East of Eden
by msmerlin13
Summary: Thrust into an unwanted spotlight with no support from her friends, Hermione turned to alcohol and drugs as a means to ease the deep ache of abandonment. Her life was spiraling out of control until Harry decides to step in. Hiring an American talent management agency to help clean up Hermione, he never expected a blonde wizard from their past to waltz in and piece her back together
1. We All Fall Down

_**Warning: This story is dark. It deals with drug use and alcoholism. It deals with the trade of sexual favors for illegal substances. If you have triggers with any of those topics I would not recommend reading.**_

* * *

 _ **Winter 2006**_

"You don't have any right to tell me what to do anymore, Ronald!" Hermione hissed, yanking her arm from Ron's vice-like grip. She stumbled back from the force of the release, wobbling in the too-tall heels her stylist selected for the evening.

"Well, someone needs to!" Ron snapped, his hands lifting to push his fallen fringe back in line with the rest of his perfectly coiffed locks in a weak attempt to compose himself. "You're a fucking mess."

The words stung, like a slicing hex straight to her heart. It had been eight years since they broke up, but the pain of the rejection still felt as fresh as the day she signed the contract. No boyfriends. No unapproved functions. No work. No communication with old friends. No freedom. No fucking choices. She felt tears prick in the corner of her eyes, betraying her need to stay composed in front of the colossal prick that her former friend and lover had become. "Fuck you."

Cornflower blue eyes snapped toward her as a cruel laugh left his lips. A sneer eerily reminiscent of their fallen potions professor masked his features as he looked her over, evaluating her body in the most crude manor possible. "I'd rather not. I've had it before. Nothing worth sticking around for."

And just like that, she felt two centimetres tall. The insecurities of the past eight years came flooding back to her instantly. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her; she was broken. She wasn't worth anything. She stumbled back further until her back hit the cold, tiled wall of the Ministry hallway, her hands trembling as the consuming darkness began to take hold. "T-That's…That's…"

"The truth. You're a drunk. You can't even make it through an awards ceremony without emptying the bar," Ron continued. "Get the bloody fuck out of here before you make yourself look like a bigger idiot than you already have."

She wanted to tell him to go away. She wanted to shout that next to agreeing to a life of post-war fame at the behest of the Ministry, he was the biggest mistake she had made. She wanted to tell him she hated him for abandoning her, but all she could do was sink to the floor, her tears spilling down her cheeks, hot with shame. As Ron continued with his verbal evisceration of the last remaining specks of self-respect she had, her hands rose and she pressed them firmly against her ears, praying it would be enough to drown out the reaffirmation that all her fears were founded. "Stop it," she cried, her nails biting at her scalp as she curled her fingers around her ears. "STOP IT!"

Hermione wasn't sure what finally pulled his attention away from her, but when she watched his shiny leather shoes move from her peripheral vision and disappear down the hall towards the room they had vacated, she allowed her hands to slowly drop to her lap. His departure did little to stem the trail of tears that flowed down her cheeks, smearing her makeup.

Taking off her heels one by one, Hermione threw them as hard as she could against the wall, praying that it would shatter into a million pieces and mirror the way she felt. It had been nearly a year since she had last seen Ron, and the gutting pain of abandonment felt more real than ever, calling forth the ever-present mantra in her head: she was alone. She wasn't worth it. She was broken. She was going to be alone forever.

The darkness came, weaving its inky black tendrils into every crevice of her mind and soul until everything she felt was empty and cold. She needed to get away. She needed to hide, to forget the world around her. She needed release. Brown eyes cracked open, and she looked down the hall in search of the small clutch she had dropped when Ron roughly ejected her from the ballroom. Spotting the tiny metallic handbag, she crawled on all fours towards it, the seams of her gown ripping in protest, but she didn't care. She needed what lay inside.

Snatching the clutch, she unzipped the top before dumping it out on the floor. Her lipstick rolled away, and the small bottle of perfume her agent stashed within burst as it hit the ground, but mixed among the debris of glass and the overpowering scent of rose water was what she was looking for. Small. Beautiful. An iridescent blue pill in the shape of a dragon's egg. Her savior. Her release.

Painted fingernails plucked the key to her temporary freedom from the glass and perfume and she placed it on her tongue. Despite the bitterness of the rose water, she could taste the sugary coating that wrapped around the pill, the first layer of the bliss this little miracle drug brought. Swallowing it down, she felt the pill settle in her stomach, mixing with the whiskey she had consumed less than an hour ago, and almost instantly she felt relief. Rushing like the warmth of a heating charm, it started at her toes and worked over her skin until she was enveloped with the rapture of its sweet embrace.

The crushing void began to fill until she felt whole. The pain and anxiety that riddled her body vanished, and instead her thoughts began to shift from how right Ron had been about her to how fucking wrong he was. She wasn't a mess. She wasn't a drunk. _He_ had the problem. He was just jealous. He didn't like that she was having a good time. He didn't like that she'd found the secret to fixing the chasm of emptiness inside her. He was jealous. He was obviously just jealous.

Half-lidded eyes looked down the hall once more to the door that would lead her back to the ballroom, and she released a soft breath. She'd prove him wrong. She'd show him just how wrong he was. Pushing up off the floor, Hermione steadied herself against the wall before moving toward the ballroom. She walked right through the broken glass, not even wincing as it sunk into her skin. She left a trail of bloody footprints along the crisp white tile as she made her way back into the throng of guests.

Lazy smiles were given to the guests. Her world had been black and gray before, but now it was technicolor. The twinkling lights strung around the ballroom burst like supernovas, their rainbow sheen illuminating the room as she stumbled back towards her table. Each step felt like she was walking on a cloud, her feet sinking further into the fluffy cotton until she could barely stand up. Grasping the closest thing she could, Hermione latched onto a Nigerian Consul, using him for support as she swayed. "Sorry," she mumbled to the surprised wizard, and as she ran her hand across his crisp robes, the thrill of the fabric sliding beneath her fingertips sent goosebumps up her arm. Her eyes widened and instead of pulling herself away from the wizard, she stroked his chest once more, relishing in the delicious tingling that reverberated in her soul.

From across the room, Harry stood shoulder to shoulder with Minister Shacklebolt as he spoke to several members of the French Ministry. A champagne flute was poised against his lips as he stood frozen in place, watching as Hermione fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. Her cheeks were flushed, and a sheen of sweat ran over every bit of her exposed skin. "Excuse me. I've—got to go," Harry mumbled, not bothering to wait for a reply before slipping from the group.

Setting his champagne glass down on the nearest table, Harry began to wind his way through the crowd of people and towards Hermione, concern written plainly across his face. He hadn't seen her in months, but this was out of character for her, wasn't it? She looked sick, delirious even. She clearly needed help, and everyone around her was just gawking.

He made it halfway across the ballroom towards her when he felt a tug on his arm, halting his progress.

"Mr. Potter." His agent spoke in a clipped tone that he was more than familiar with. She did this whenever he did something she found 'excessively foolish'. "The Minister for Magic is requesting your presence in conference room 421. He stated that he wasn't done with your conversation when you abruptly left."

She'd been watching him again, hadn't she? She always did that, spied on him from across the room at these type of functions, constantly making sure he was playing his part. Harry reached up to adjust his glasses on his nose, as he often did when he was nervous, only to find them missing. Contacts; yet another change she insisted he make recently. "I'll be there in a moment, Aurora," Harry replied before looking back over to Hermione, watching as she tried to pull herself up off the floor only to fall down once again. "Hermione needs my help."

"The proper people have been notified, Mr. Potter," the bespeckled witch replied crisply, violet eyes glancing past her client to Hermione, pity penetrating her normally collected demeanor. It was disarming to see his agent wear something other than a careful mask of apathy. "Best not keep the Minister waiting."

Harry hesitated as he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, torn between rushing to aid his friend and his obligation for the night. Perhaps Kingsley's meeting wouldn't take long? He could floo call her once he got home to make sure she was safe. "Someone's coming?" he confirmed, looking back at his agent once again.

"Yes. Someone's coming," Aurora confirmed before giving his arm a slight tug, and she gestured behind her toward the exit that would lead him to the lifts. "Come along. This won't take but a minute."

Harry nodded, emerald eyes sweeping across the room, watching as Hermione pulled herself up into a chair, her dress practically hanging off her shoulders, torn from the struggle to get off the floor. He turned away, following the sharp clip of his agent's heels. It would be alright. Someone was coming to help her.

* * *

 _ **Spring 2008**_

Hermione shifted nervously from her left to right foot, willing her shaking hands to calm by sweeping them over the thighs of her jeans. She needed to remain calm. She needed to act like her world wasn't closing in. She needed to act normal. Normal. She could remember what normal felt like, couldn't she? She waited anxiously for Charlie to say something—anything! She knew she was taking a risk coming here, considering she had seen him just last week with a similar plea, but she was desperate. She needed a fix, and she was beyond broke. Her vault held nothing but dust bunnies, and she was already in debt 200 Galleons to her landlord, but the shakes wouldn't stop. The emptiness wouldn't subside. She had consumed enough Firewhiskey to incapacitate a small army over the week, but it wouldn't go away. It wasn't enough. She needed something more. She needed her freedom from this consuming darkness. "Charlie." She broke the silence with her plea, dark eyes lifting from the floor to the long haired wizard.

Charlie raised his index finger toward her, cornflower blue eyes, so similar to Ron's, not lifting from the ledger book he had opened on his desk. When she left last week with only ten pills, he figured it would last her longer than this. Most of his clients were only taking one a day at a maximum, but it seemed like the Golden Girl was sinking faster than he had anticipated. Her tolerance for Dragon's Breath was impressive, especially considering she was a Muggleborn. His eyes ran across her page, sweeping over the payments and credits, watching as more and more red began to splash across his page as he worked his way down to the total at the bottom. 250 Galleons. Not his highest debtor, but considering he knew her finances—or lack thereof—she was in no position to exceed her credit limit further. With a heavy sigh, Charlie laid down the book on his desk, his tongue running across his teeth in thought as he lifted his eyes to examine her. He watched the steady tremble in her fingers, the fidgeting, the gentle sway of her body that told him she absolutely could not sit still. He should feel sorry for her, but he had long ago given up the good inside him and made room for a much darker personality. "You're maxed out, love. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do unless you've got a hundred Galleons squirrelled away in the pockets of those jeans."

A hundred Galleons!? _A hundred galleons!?_ Was he high?—She thought it was likely, but she never knew Charlie to take his own supply while working. A hundred Galleons? How was it even possible? Had he padded her debt? Was there interest tacked onto it that she didn't know about? Was that even a thing? Drug dealer interest? Merlin, how was it one hundred Galleons? That was half her fucking rent. Gulping down the rising sense of dread at his rejection, Hermione took a tentative step forwards, her fingers brushing the top of his desk. "Charlie, come on. It's me—I'm your friend. We've known each other for ages," she tried to reason.

Charlie's head tipped back in a hollow laugh that seemed to echo off the bare walls around them. It was like he could see the gears ticking behind her eyes, trying to find a way to make this work. She'd been coming to him for years now, surely she knew him better than this. If she wanted product, she was going to need to offer something up in return. And, since money was clearly off the table, there was really only one thing he was interested in...

"My friend?" he questioned as he straightened his spine into a more authoritative pose in his chair. "You were never _my_ friend, Hermione. You hung around my baby brother and the boy wonder. I just happened to be there on occasion."

"That's not true, Charlie. We have been friendly for a long time!" Hermione defended, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips.

"Friendly. I would hardly call our relationship a friendship," Charlie balked, giving Hermione a definitive shake of his head. "Just because I passed you mashed potatoes at Yule does not make us friends, Hermione. Beyond that, it's been years since either of us were graced with an invite to my mother's. No, we're more like acquaintances, especially now. You are my customer; I could never be friends with you."

He wasn't her friend. He wasn't her anything. She was alone. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her. She was broken. She wasn't worth anything. Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor as the words emerged from the blackness within her soul, vibrant, white. Scarring. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She needed to prevent herself from crumbling here in front of him. It was bad enough she was back here begging for more. She wouldn't let him see her cry. She wouldn't let him see her fall apart.

Shaking hands slid across her hips once more, wiping away the sweat from her palms as she took a stuttering breath. How could she argue with him? He held all the power. If she were to point out the things they had done that would clearly define their relationship as more than acquaintances, he would use it against her. The things that made her sick to her stomach. The things that almost made it not worth the freedom his little blue pills gave her. She didn't want to bring them up, to relive the memories. She didn't want to do them ever again.

Shifting her weight between her feet once more, she brought a trembling hand up to push her shoulder length curls behind her ear, her eyes still staring at the filthy floor, praying he would have a shred of compassion left in his bones. "I'm not here to argue, okay? I—I just was hoping you could front me until the fifth," she explained in a voice barely above a whisper. Glancing up through her eyelashes, her eyes sought out his once more. "I have an interview payout that day. I just need enough to last me until then."

Charlie only offered her a simple shrug of his shoulders before he leaned back in his swivel chair, the spring squeaking in response. "I'm afraid not. I don't make money off handouts to the needy. I've got bills to pay, just as you do, sweetheart."

"I'll pay double," she interjected quickly as a slow creeping panic began to set in. The inky blackness. The consuming fear. He couldn't deny her. She needed this. She needed this to get through the interview. Fuck, she needed this to get through her fucking day! She needed him to understand. She needed him to have some compassion, anything. She needed a friend.

He wasn't her friend. He wasn't her anything. She was alone. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her. She was broken. She wasn't worth anything.

Charlie's eyes flicked to the large wizard who stood near the only entrance and exit to room, noting the way his guard was just waiting for the smallest of signals to escort her out. Charlie's fingers flexed, the impulse to remove her beginning to grow stronger. He didn't need the promise of her money. She was in the hole to him for far more than she likely realized already. She knew exactly what type of currency he was wanting and the more she acted like that card was not on the table, the more agitated he grew. "I will not repeat myself again, Hermione. This begging is far less cute now that you're nearing thirty," he snapped.

"Charlie… please, Charlie," Hermione implored, taking another tentative step forward until her trainers touched the edge of the desk, her thighs pressing against the hardwood. "I'll do anything—I'll do… it."

She would regret this decision the moment she walked from his building, but the pull of the drug was too much. The need to find her freedom. The need to have the weight lifted from her shoulders, even if just for a moment. She knew it lay just inside his desk drawer, inches from where she stood now, and she could almost taste the sweet intoxication that would wash over her the moment it hit her tongue. Her body shivered, from withdrawal or anticipation she would never know. It had been less than twenty-four hours since her last pill, but it seemed like it had been an eternity.

Hermione's heart thumped unsteadily under her chest in a rhythm that felt closer to a gallop than a beat. She watched his eyes study her face, scanning her for what? She didn't know, but he seemed to find it because his hand rose to his guard, and with a quick wave, the burly wizard moved from the room without so much as a word.

"Come here," Charlie commanded, pushing himself slowly away from his desk until there was room for her to slip in front of him. Fiery red hair spilled from the bun on the top of his head, wisps of fringe framing his freckled face as he watched her move with tentative steps, the tremble in her hands growing stronger the closer she got.

Once Hermione was within arms reach, Charlie guided her between his parted thighs with a hand on her hip. The back of her legs bit into the desk as she scooted as far back from his touch as possible, her skin burning under his hold. Her lips parted to release a heavy breath, afraid to utter a single word, praying he wouldn't change his mind.

"Well," Charlie began, the silence lingering between them palpable. Lifting a single brow at the curly haired witch, he swept his hand toward the floor before him. "You know what to do Granger. On your knees."

Hermione's heart sank at his words, and any speck of self-esteem she still held vanished like smoke in the wind. The blackness swallowed her up entirely, extinguishing all light. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her. She was broken. She wasn't worth anything. She told herself she would never do this again. She would never allow herself to be this desperate, but here she was. She was worthless. She was going to be alone forever. No one would want her now. Not after this. Never after this. Her fingers curled into fists, praying that the shake would go away. Praying that the world would just disappear, and she wouldn't feel so fucking lost. "C-Charlie… I—"

"Don't act so fucking coy, Hermione. Do you want the pills or not?" Charlie snapped. He was growing impatient of her back and forth tonight. Most of the time, she made this so bloody easy. She was practically crawling in his lap by the time she became this needy. Clearly he had been too generous with the amount he'd given her last time. He made a mental note to not make the same mistake twice as he reached down to unfasten his trousers before pulling down his zip.

Hermione's mouth went dry as she watched him prepare himself, tugging down his trousers low on his hips until he sat in his green boxers. Her mind swirled like a tempest-tossed storm, churning to find the solution for this problem. She didn't want this. She didn't want to feel this way, but she knew her happiness lay only moments away if she could just do this deed one more time. It wasn't like anyone would ever want her again anyway, right? She was alone. She was going to be alone forever. What was one more time? _One more time. One more time_. The phrase repeated in her mind as she gulped down what remained of her pride. "How many?"

Charlie's face broke into a slow smirk. Smart girl. Negotiate up front, then do the work. Leaning over, Charlie pulled open the top drawer of his desk and removed a small glass vial before setting it down on top of the desk next to her left hip. The drawer self-retracted with a loud snap, causing Hermione to jump.

Brown eyes flickered to the vial, counting the little iridescent blue pills that lay inside the bottom and her heart stuttered. Five…Five fucking pills? That wouldn't even last her until Friday! He wanted her to suck his cock for FIVE FUCKING PILLS!? "This is—this is less than last time." Her voice trembled.

"Last time you were sloppy," Charlie responded deadpan, and when she flinched at his words, a cruel laugh spilled from his lips once again. "You want more? Show me it's worth more."

Hermione reached out, picking up the small vial and she swirled the pills around the bottom of the glass, her mind racing from one thought to another. Was it worth this? Five fucking pills, he had to be joking! Maybe she could go to another dealer? She could try and use what little celebrity she had left to persuade them for a free sample. But did she know anyone who didn't work under Charlie? Probably not. Maybe if she didn't look for Dragon's Breath, but something else. Some different kind of high. It didn't matter though, did it? This was it. She was alone. She wasn't worth the fight to save her pride. She was worthless. She was nothing.

"Do you want them or not?" Charlie snapped, pulling her from her spaghetti string of thought. "I've got plenty of other witches who will happily take your place without asking for free product." When Hermione made no immediate response to his question, he released a frustrated sigh and leaned forward to snatch the vial from her trembling fingers.

"No!" Hermione jumped, pulling the vial tight against her chest, and her fingers curled tightly around the glass. "I-I'll do it," she stammered as she slipped the pill vial into the front pocket of her jeans before she slowly sank to the dirty floor.

The ground was filthy, covered in what looked like years of dirt, spilled liquor, and bodily fluids. She gagged, trying to keep down the rising bile as she crawled towards his parted thighs, the grit from the floor biting into her skin through the holes in her jeans.

Charlie watched, smirking when he felt her hands tremble as she reached for the waistband of his boxers. She could barely curl her fingers around the elastic. Fucking addicts, they never made this easy, did they? Reaching over the top of Hermione's head, Charlie pulled open his top drawer once more.

Hermione gasped, having to duck so it didn't connect with the side of her head. What was he doing? She told him no cameras after that one time. It was bad enough he made her do this, but photographic evidence wasn't needed. Her career was already failing; she didn't need it to burst into flames. She watched as Charlie slammed the drawer closed and between his index and forefinger sat one single pill. The yellow hue of the artificial light in his room made the sheen less beautiful, but it still glistened as he lowered it towards her.

"Because I'm so generous…"

She barely heard his words over the thunderous beating of her heart. Perching up on her knees, she wrapped her lips greedily around his fingers, her tongue lapping the little blue pill free. The sugary sweet coating splashed across her tongue, and almost instantly she felt calm. It was coming. Her freedom was coming. The pain would go away, and she would be whole once more. She would be free. Her eyes closed and an audible moan was released as she swallowed the pill, feeling it travel down her throat to settle in her empty stomach.

Charlie chuckled, and the hand that had just fed her moved to rest on the top of her head, guiding her back towards his lap while his other curled around the back of his neck. His eyes lifted to watch the clock that he hung above the door to his study. He knew it would take approximately two minutes for her trembling to subside, and fifteen before the full effect of the drug would take hold and leave her near incapacitated. It was just enough time for her to swallow his load and use his floo to get back to that shitty little hovel she called a flat. When her lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes fluttered closed and his head tipped back, a slow grin washing over his features. This is exactly how he liked her. Desperate and on her fucking knees. It took him nearly two years to help push her habit to this point, and now that she was here, he was more than happy to reap the benefits.

* * *

Harry was staring at his mobile, eyes flicking across the screen, reading the email his agent just sent. Although the majority of the Wizarding World still relied on owls to deliver messages, the younger generation was coming up with ways to incorporate Muggle technology. With the help of the creative team at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, they were able to not only market the first Wizarding cellular phone but also mark the development of something called 'The Roost,' a social media platform specific to Wizarding folk across the globe. That is exactly what this email was about. George was looking for a new face for his campaign. Someone recognisable. Someone the public adored, and, according to Aurora, Harry was perfect for the job.

Just as he reached the details regarding his upcoming appointment with George and the marketing team at WWW, a loud slap pulled his eyes up. He watched a magazine slide quickly across the table, nearly knocking over his chalice of ale as it skidded to a halt in front of him. "Well, it's nice to see you too, Ron," Harry mumbled, his thumb pressing the button on the side of his mobile that blanked his screen, and he set the device face down on the table.

"She's at it again, Harry," Ron snapped, not bothering to lower his voice. It wasn't like anyone in this part of the restaurant wasn't already completely aware of what lay on the cover of that magazine. Everyone was talking about it. Hell, he'd found out about it from the barista at the cafe by his flat. "She's dragging our image through the mud and you bloody well know it."

"You say this every time I see you." Harry reached out, plucking the magazine from the table. Hermione was on the cover underneath the arm of some rising star in America, a dark haired fellow that reminded him of a young Viktor Krum. She looked different. Sick almost. She was gaunt, skinnier than she ever had been. Her skin looked several shades lighter than he remembered, and her eyes were sunk in. Although he knew they were supposed to be brown, they appeared black. The depths of her sorrow was visible in the endless darkness. She looked like she hadn't got proper sleep in weeks—no, months. Possibly years. She looked like a ghost of a person, floating through existence, a shadow of the woman he once knew.

Harry ignored Ron's rambling. He'd heard it all before; it was simply noise at this point. Ron had been at odds with the witch for what felt like years, always scheming to make her disappear from the public's view. The truth was, she wasn't ruining their image. She hadn't been associated with him or Ron in a little over two years now. Their agents made sure of that. What she was doing was ruining her life. Flicking open the magazine, he thumbed through the articles until he found hers. The images splashed across the page told enough of the story without any need to read the actual article. Pictures of her drinking straight from a bottle, pictures of her on the dance floor, her clothes practically falling off her boney frame. Pictures of her snogging various club attendees—wizards and witches alike—pictures of her falling down in the middle of the dance floor, barely able to stay conscious based on the glassy look in her eyes, and, finally a picture of her being carried out by a wizard who looked old enough to be her father, the American she entered the club with two steps behind on his phone.

"—she's a fucking menace Harry. This is unacceptable. She knows how bad this looks. She knows what she's fucking doing to me! She's doing it on purpose—"

Emerald eyes scanned the page again, floating across the images. He had this magazine at home, but this article had been removed. Aurora, going through his fucking mail again. "Protecting him." From what, he had no idea, but he sensed it was more like a protection for herself. So he wouldn't see shit like this and try to help. He knew it was bad; he heard the stories from other people, but he didn't know it was this bad. How long had this been going on? How far down this path of self-destruction had she run? Closing the magazine, Harry set it down on the table before he reached for his ale and took a large gulp.

"We need to stop her. We need to make sure she doesn't keep doing this," Ron snapped, jamming his index finger on the cover of the magazine as he loomed over the table.

"You're absolutely right," Harry agreed. He felt responsible. How could he not? If they had never been friends, none of this would have happened. If she never got famous, she would still be the same Hermione he knew growing up. Smart, clever, and outspoken. She was hard to love at first, but her devotion to him had never waivered. She was a better friend than Ron had been in the end, and this was how he treated her? He hadn't seen her in two fucking years, let alone taken a break in his schedule to owl her! What the hell had he been thinking?

"I'm writing the Public Relations team at the Ministry. I'm telling them they need to cancel her contract immediately or I'm leaving."

Ron's announcement cut through Harry's thoughts like ice water, and he looked up at the wizard with lifted brows. "Excuse me?" He had misheard, right? Ron hadn't said what he thought he did. Sitting up in his chair, Harry pressed his elbows on the table top as he leaned closer to Ron, who still stood looming over the table. "Ron, you can't do that."

"The bloody hell I can't," Ron snapped, ignoring the gasp from the patrons around him at his tone. "I fucking work my ass off. I do not need to worry about picking up whatever mess she makes. I'm done with her bullshit, Harry."

"Picking up her mess?" Harry almost laughed but figured that Ron was already pissed off enough; he didn't need to stoke that fire any further. "Ron, you haven't had anything to do with her for the past three years. I'm not sure what sort of delusional world you're in, mate, but you really need to wake up."

"Wake up? Wake up?! Harry, my eyes are wide fucking open. She is fucking killing herself in the most public way possible and taking us down with her. Our names are forever associated with the fucking slag she's become."

"Hey! Watch it!" Harry growled in warning. Ron might have been his best mate at one point in time, but the time he considered him such had long since passed. "She just needs help. We can get her help."

Ron balked at the idea, his nose wrinkling as his lips pulled back in a sneer. "You want me to spend money on her?" His questioned dripped with disdain, as if the idea of trying to get Hermione help was the most offensive thing he had heard in his life. "Abso-fucking-lutely not, Harry. You're madder than a box of chocolate frogs if you think I'm giving that trollop one fucking knut of my money."

"Ron! This is Hermione!" Harry tried to reason, his voice growing louder in his frustration. "This is our childhood friend. The same girl who fucking risked her life beside us. You know, your ex-girlfriend?"

Ron stood up straight, his face falling, a mask of apathy hiding his disgust as he looked at Harry. "I'm not doing this." His voice was deathly calm, sending a chill down Harry's spine. "I thought you'd be on board. I thought you'd finally seen my point."

"That Hermione deserves nothing? Ron, she fought alongside you and me. She deserves a lot more than what she's been given," Harry pointed out, his finger tapping on the cover of the magazine to prove his point. Emerald eyes watched as Ron began to back up, his head shaking, ruining his perfectly coiffed hair. "So you're leaving? You ask me to lunch, shout at me about our oldest friend, and leave because I don't agree?"

"I'm not doing this, Harry!" Ron snapped as he narrowed his eyes. "I'm leaving. I need to get away. I'm going to Paris with Noémie. I can't fucking deal with this bullshit, your bleeding heart, or her fucking mess." Turning on his heel, he left the room quickly, nearly knocking over the waiter who carried in Harry's lunch order.

As the brunette lowered his steak salad to the table, Harry muttered a soft apology for Ron's behavior. The hunger he had felt moments earlier was gone, replaced with a gnawing guilt that made him sick to his stomach. Reaching out, he scooted the bowl away before he looked back at the magazine. Pulling it toward him, he ran his fingertips across the cover image of his friend, a woman he barely recognized, a woman who was falling apart. His heart sank. He needed to fix this; he needed to make this right. He was responsible. He was part of the reason her life was spiraling out of control. He needed to find his old friend again. He wasn't going to take no for an answer any longer.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I know- I don't need another WIP, but this plunny has been with me for a couple months now. I have several chapters lead and I am at the point where I feel comfortable putting it out. I hope you like where it's going.

Huge massive thank you to Disenchantedglow. She's been my rock through this. encouraging. proof reading. being the most amazing alpha you could possibly image.

Additional thanks for islandgurl777 & Ravenslight for beta'ing this chapter to perfection. 3 I hope everyone enjoys.

Posting Schedule - once a week.


	2. Nine Years

The sound of a quill scratching sharply against a piece of parchment filled the living room as Harry wrote a hurried reply. "Just a second," he told the moody looking eagle owl that sat perched in the window. With a quick signature to the bottom of the parchment, he laid his quill down next to the open ink pot on his roll top desk before casting a quick drying charm on the letter. Reaching into the right pocket of his jeans, he fished out a small silver keyring that held a worn skeleton key. Laying it in the center of the parchment, he folded it up neatly before popping it inside a thick envelope that was already stuffed with American Muggle currency.

Tapping his wand to the manila envelope, the sparkle of a magical seal wrapped around the package like twine, securing the contents. Only the intended recipient would be able to open the it. He had never used the charm before, but seeing as they were dealing with a considerable amount of money and a long journey for this owl, he understood why the precautions were needed. Tucking his wand into his back pocket, Harry picked up the now magically-sealed envelope, and he tied it securely around the owl's leg, earning himself an irritated nip to the back of his hand in the process. "Ouch, you little shit," he cursed at the owl, lifting his hand to inspect for any damage. Finding no significant injury, he shifted his eyes to glare at the oversized muppet of a bird on his window sill, but it was already gone.

Grumpy little thing. Harry knew he had a trans-Atlantic flight but seriously, the bird could at least be grateful for the owl treats he provided while responding to the letter. Reaching out, he pulled the window closed before drawing the curtains. He would have to send word later requesting they use a less vicious owl for future package deliveries, although he hoped this would be the last he needed to send. It had taken the better part of a week for arrangements to be made, and tonight was the last puzzle piece that needed to fall into place. As long as she showed, that is.

Harry surveyed the furniture around the room, making sure everything was in order. He'd asked Toppey, his house elf, to make sure the rooms were cleaned and everything was in its proper place before she was released from her duties for the evening. He needed everything to be perfect. He needed this to work.

Walking across the room, Harry moved to the small loveseat that sat in front of the fireplace, and he began to fluff the throw pillows for what felt like the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, trying to find an outlet for his nervous energy. Just as he ruffled the last pillow, creating the proper amount of fluff, the sound of the floo activating in the study caught his attention. She was here… Shit! She was here! Harry darted from the living room, his long stride carrying him across the hallway in record time, and he walked into the study just as she stepped through the emerald green flames.

Hermione stumbled, her flats catching on the hearth as she crossed over the threshold into Grimmauld Place. "Bollocks!" she cursed as she tumbled forward and landed on her hands and knees on a gold and burgundy Persian rug. The slow burn of a blush began at the apple of her cheeks, working its way down her neck. She lifted her eyes to find Harry standing at the archway leading into the room, his eyes wide and his mouth in the shape of an 'O.' Great. First time in ages since she had a moment with him and she was already making a fool of herself.

It took a moment for him to react; the image of her tumbling out of his fireplace played in his mind in slow motion. The step had troubled visitors since the remodel. He'd been meaning to fix it but just hadn't gotten around to it; he hadn't been home enough for it to matter. He barely had guests, and generally he never allowed them access to his Floo, so he'd neglected to get it fix. Of course, now he felt like the biggest arsehole in the room. Which really wasn't hard, considering there were only two of them and she was on her hands and knees due to his lack of follow up on home repairs. "Shite, Hermione. I'm so sorry!" he breathed his apology as he rushed to help scoop her up from the ground. "Are you okay?"

Just as Harry reached for her, Hermione held up her hand towards him to prevent him from touching her. Her palm was bright red from the carpet burn, but it appeared that she was okay other than that small injury. "I'm fine." Pushing up off the floor and onto her knees, she straightened her skirt before standing, as gracefully as one was able considering the situation. She dropped her eyes to assess the rest of her outfit, hands tugging her blouse into some semblance of order before she looked up at Harry. Her mind swirled, watching him stare at her, assessing her. Judging her. She was not immune to anyone's judgement, not even her own. "I'm not drunk—just so you know. I tripped." She knew he was thinking it. They all were. Sloppy Hermione Granger. Drunk Hermione Granger. The Girl Fallen from Grace. She was the talk of the town and not in the best way possible. Normally, she tried not to let it bother her. She tried to ignore what the papers said, but knowing that Harry might be thinking what so many other people did was almost too much to bear. She wasn't worth it. She was worthless. She was not worthy of his friendship. Not anymore.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it several times, like a fish out of water, unsure of what to say to her comment. _'Okay'? 'I wouldn't blame you if you were'? 'I'm sorry'_? They all crossed his mind, but nothing felt right. "I didn't think you were," was what he finally settled on. His hand rose, nervous fingers pushing through his untidy black locks out of habit as he flashed her a sympathetic smile. "How are you?"

How was she? The question felt so foreign. Like he might as well be speaking a different language. Her brow knit as her mind came to a screeching halt, interrupting her anxious spiral. How _was_ she? What a fucking question. Harry didn't seem to realise the weight of what that simple question might hold. How was she? She was fucking awful. She had 35 Galleons to her name and a fridge with a block of cheese, expired bottle of milk, and three eggs inside. She had literally just come from paying off a small sliver her debt to Charlie-Fucking-Weasley with the only type of currency he would accept from her any more. She could still feel the way his hands slid across her skin as he took her over his desk; she could still feel the painful bite of the splintered wood in her hips. She was fucking miserable. She was pathetic. She was worthless. The only time she felt remotely happy was when she found the bottom of a fire whiskey bottle—she'd settle for wine if need be. The only time she was finally able to forget the crushing anxiety that had built over the past ten years was when she took those little blue pills. Dragon's Breath. Her savior. Her freedom. So how was she doing? She was not fucking great.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the rising need to confess just how shitty her life had become down into the pit of her stomach, and a forced smile spread across her lips. _Pretend. Smile pretty, Granger. Pretend._ "I'm okay. Just taking it one day at a time," she lied. "How are you? You look well."

"Good. Busy. Kingsley keeps sending me on these overseas assignments that are really just me sitting in a room while he negotiates trade deals. He thinks my presence makes all the difference, but I'm beginning to think he's daft because no one in those meetings gives me a second glance," Harry answered, watching her eyes travel past him as he spoke, surveying the room with a curious expression, barely even paying attention to his words. This wasn't supposed to be about him. It was about her. They were supposed to be catching up over dinner and some drinks. Casual. Just a friendly get together. He wanted to see how she was doing. He missed her. None of those were lies but rather convenient truths that would aid him in helping her. Based on the magazine he purchased from Flourish and Blotts earlier this week, it didn't seem like convincing her to indulge in an after dinner drink would be a hard feat. He hadn't spent time with her in years, but he held no doubt in his mind she would fight him on this. She was in too deep. Even now he could see a tightness to her eyes, the tremble in her fingers, the defensive walls she built around herself to protect her from gods only knew what.

After his row with Ron, Harry had spent the next two days looking into treatment facilities that would be able to help him, but without her consent, none of them were willing to take her. Even if it was at The-Boy-Who-Lived's request. That was why he then set his sights on talent management companies. He knew Hermione's agent only kept her on the books as a requirement from the Ministry. She barely worked. He even couldn't remember the last time she had an actual event booked. Going through his contact, Harry reached out to every single firm he knew of. The only response he actually received was from a company he called on a whim. He'd doubted they would have taken his request, but he had to try, right? Hermione wasn't just anyone. She was supposed to be his best friend, even though he had been missing from her life for the past several years. To him, she was worth it. Several emails and a phone call later, the contract was secured, and Harry had cleared his schedule for the next couple of weeks under the pretense of a vacation.

The talent management company told him to get her to the detox location by any means necessary; he knew they had meant force, but he would never be able to bring himself to do that. No, he needed to approach this carefully. Like bowing before a Hippogriff, he needed to appease her before moving in close. "Supper's in the oven. I hope you still like Toad in a Hole. It's not quite as good as Hogwarts', but it's close."

Hermione's attention moved back to Harry, the hint of a smile tugging at the far corners of her mouth. Toad in a Hole?! She hadn't had that…. well, since before what should have been their seventh year. It had been a special treat growing up, her grandmum's recipe that her dad would make when she got good grades or on a rainy summer day. At Hogwarts, it appeared in heavy rotation, and she allowed herself to indulge in what had become one of her favorite meals more often than her mother would care for. Her empty stomach gave an audible grumble in response, and her hand lifted to rest against the concave of her belly. "That sounds great. I don't think I've had it since we were there," she admitted.

Harry's smile widened, watching a hint of light flash in his friends eyes for the briefest of seconds, and for a moment, he thought that maybe she wasn't so far gone. But just as quickly as it came, the light vanished. The brief image of the girl he once knew disappeared behind the walls once more. "It's got about ten minutes left. We can sit in the living room while we wait."

Hermione nodded, and when Harry held out his hand towards her as if to guide her through his home, she simply edged around it, silently declining the offer. It wasn't like this house was foreign. She'd spent many nights at Grimmauld Place in her youth, but it was obvious that there had been some remodeling done. Everything looked modern, for starters. And when she used the Floo there had been no shouting from Walburga. She walked in silence beside Harry, her attention anywhere else but him, noting the changes. It was… so different. What else had changed? Was the tapestry room empty? Someone had removed the old Victorian fixtures and replaced them with modern equivalents. Alabaster painted walls replaced the filigree wallpaper, and instead of hand painted portraits of old ancestors, modern art, and photographs littered the walls. Pictures of Harry with foreign dignitaries, pictures of Harry on vacation in exotic places, and the occasional picture of Harry with Ron. But as she moved down the hall she couldn't help but notice not one picture of their youth was here. Nothing of his past adorned the walls, and absolutely nothing with her in it. Her heart sank as the slow realization of just how far apart they'd grown filled her soul. He was barely the same Harry she once knew. Hell, in more than half of the photos he wasn't even wearing glasses anymore!

"You okay?" Harry questioned when Hermione's pace slowed to a crawl as she looked around the hallway, her eyes wandering from picture to picture.

"Yeah. It's just… so different." She didn't know if she was referring to their friendship, or Grimmauld Place. In truth, it could have been both. Everything was so different. The world had changed, and it seemed like Hermione was still glued to the same spot she was ten years ago. She was alone. She'd be alone forever. She didn't have Harry or Ron. She didn't have anyone. She was alone. A shiver of fear ran down her spine as the slow creep of emptiness began to fill her. She needed to stay calm. She needed to not freak out. She told herself that the drinks she had earlier were it. They were supposed to last her until she got home, but the thirst to kill the demons inside her was growing stronger by the minute.

Harry looked around the hallway, emerald eyes dancing from picture to picture. He didn't even notice the change anymore. It had been so long since the remodel. Yet another thing Aurora had insisted upon. A good photo opportunity. Employing wizard-owned businesses after the war. Boosting the economy. Updating Grimmauld Place since he refused live in the Ministry-assigned flat. When he walked in once they were done, it barely felt like home. Little remained of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Nothing remained of Sirius. Every trace of his adolescence gone, painted over by crisp white walls and modern architecture. "I uh… I guess it is a bit different. It's been a while since I've had you over."

"Nine years." Hermione's voice didn't break or falter. There was no pain, no sorrow, nothing. It was like she was reading from a book. A simple fact. She had not stepped foot in Grimmauld Place in nine years. She'd seen the photos, but it looked so different she couldn't let herself believe he would willingly sign off on the gutting of his Godfather's home. Although, she also knew it was likely not he who was signing the work orders.

"Nine…. no. It hasn't been that long." Harry's forehead wrinkled in thought. That number seemed far too large! He'd had her over more recently than that, hadn't he? She was here for Teddy's first birthday! And he was…. _Oh shit—you're a fucking wanker, Potter._ Teddy was ten. He had just celebrated his tenth birthday back in April. One year left until he would get his Hogwarts letter. Harry had made a big deal about being there to celebrate with his godson. Canceled his schedule for the entire weekend just so he could hang out with him. Fuck, it _had_ been nine bloody years. Dropping his eyes to his hands, Harry picked at the hemline of his navy jumper, buffed nails pulling at the thread. "Hermione, I'm sorry. Nine years? Merlin, I have no excuse. I don't even know how I let this happen."

Hermione glanced over, her teeth pulling the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth to chew on as she watched an all too familiar shame wash over Harry's features. Shame. He was alone, too. He wasn't worthless, but he was alone. She should feel sorry for him; she should tell him she understood, but the demon inside her reared its ugly head in a laugh, delighting in the small ounce of pain he felt. "It's fine," she lied, forcing a small smile out before she turned to move further down the hallway toward what she hoped was still the living room.

Harry's heart sunk as he watched her walk ahead of him, his feet glued to the floor. It wasn't fine. It was far from bloody fine. The woman who he would still instinctively call his best friend had not set foot in his house in nine bloody years. Worse, he didn't even know where she lived. How could this be fine? But this wasn't about him or his feelings, was it? This was about her. He needed to get her help. And in that process, he might be able to fix whatever had broken between them.

With a deep breath, Harry steeled his resolve and jogged after her into his living room until he stood beside her. His hand instinctively went to the small of her back to guide her towards the love seat, but as soon as his fingers brushed across her skin, a spark sent a shockwave racing up the length of his arm towards his heart. The both jumped at the reaction and pulled away, but neither said a word. Static electricity, that's all it was. That's all it could be. "Here, take a seat," Harry said before motioning to the love seat. "I'll get us a drink. Red or white wine?"

Hermione's tongue ran along the inside of her teeth in contemplation. She told herself she wouldn't. She'd swore it, but the idea of just one drink was welcoming. Her heart was racing; her palms were sweaty. It would calm her. It would make this visit more comfortable, wouldn't it? "Whatever you're having," She replied as she sunk into the loveseat, carefully crossing her legs at the knee. One drink wouldn't hurt. She could stop at one. One drink would make her feel better. It would make her calm. It would make being alone okay.

* * *

They took dinner in the living room, and just as Harry had hoped, the wine did manage to loosen Hermione up. They didn't speak of life post-war but instead reminisced about their time together in school. The times they broke curfew, Harry playing Quidditch, Hermione outsmarting even the most talented of professors, and how much they missed being inside those stone walls at Hogwarts. For Harry, Hogwarts was the first place he felt accepted, the first place he found out what love was. Not the romantic kind but something better: the love between friends. Unwavering. Undying. The love he felt for Hermione even still.

He watched as she ate through two heaping servings of Toad in a Hole, practically licking her bowl eat time. The color in her cheeks slowly returned from the warmth of the fire and food in her belly. Although she was still frail, he could see glimpses of the old Hermione coming closer to the surface. Her eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the flame, accenting what Harry knew to be her best feature. The depths of her eyes consumed him, even back in their youth. So expressive. So much emotion. In one single look, she could bring him to his knees, and he knew without a doubt that she still possessed that power.

As the night wore on, the bottle of red wine turned quickly into two, and before Harry could even recommend a night cap, Hermione had begun pouring herself tumblers of whiskey from his dry bar. By the time the clock struck eleven, Hermione could barely stand straight, let alone keep her speech coherent.

"Chooooo Chang," Hermione slurred as she snickered over the rim of her tumbler. She was sitting with her back against the arm of the loveseat, her feet tucked under Harry's thigh like old times. Glassy brown eyes shimmered with amusement. "Oh Harry, you looooved her. Remember?"

Harry blushed, his right hand swirling the amber liquid around his own tumbler of whiskey. She had him beat by about four glasses already, but he was not going to let her drink alone. It was bad enough that he was plying her with alcohol, but he would be damned if he let her make a fool of herself alone. "I never loved her," Harry scoffed before taking a large gulp.

"Oh yes you did!" Hermione sputtered, her tongue darting to collect the droplets of liquor from her bottom lip before she leaned forward to playfully push against his arm. "You did! You pined after her for ages. What ever happened to Choooo Chang?"

Harry chuckled, giving her a small shake of his head before he leaned out to set his glass down on the coffee table in front of him. "Ginny happened," he reminded Hermione with a small smirk, the heat from the liquor coloring his cheeks red.

Hermione was draining her glass, but she gave a small noise in acknowledgement. Right! Ginny. Of course, Ginny happened. Dropping her empty glass to the coffee table with a loud clatter, she leaned back on the couch, folding her hands over her stomach. "Back then, yes. But so much as changed. I've changed… You've changed… Ginny's changed. Did you know she married Oliver Wood? Oliver fucking Wood." Hermione's eyes went round as she gave a low whistle, her brows rising to her hairline. "I used to have a crush on him. Huge. Massive. It was that damn broomstick and Scottish accent."

"You had a crush on Oliver Wood?!" Harry asked, astounded. Hermione was human, so obviously she had crushes on people, even as a school girl, but the idea seemed outrageous! Back then she had been so serious. Every time they were together, she'd had her nose buried in a book. To be honest, he wondered if she even looked up at their classmates the entire first year he knew her.

"Uh, yes. Wasn't it obvious!?"

"Hermione, you always had a book in front of your face. You were such a swot back then. I was fairly certain the only reason you knew my name was because you liked to correct me so often, so no. It was not obvious." Harry laughed. When she reached out to give him a light smack on his arm, he reached out and caught her hand mid-swing. The spark returned, running from his fingertips and down to his toes, every ounce of his body felt like it was shocked. His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat at his touch, and the shockwave rolled over her body like a tsunami. Consuming, suffocating. This wasn't normal. This wasn't right. She shouldn't be here, not anymore. She hated herself enough, but she would hate herself even more if she stayed to figure out whatever the fuck that spark was. She had already fucked up so much in her life, she couldn't ruin this tiny ounce of friendship she still had with Harry. Yanking her hand from his, she quickly pulled her feet from under his frame and she stood up. "I—I should go. It's late." Her body swayed as she tried to find enough balance to find her shoes and flee.

The moment her hand left his, the current of electricity died like someone had yanked the cord from the wall. He felt cold despite the fire still roaring beside them. He felt almost… empty. He watched her stumble from behind the coffee table, her hands clutching the arm of the loveseat as her glassy eyes looked around the room. "You can't leave," he mumbled before pushing off the couch and moving towards her. "Hermione, you can't leave. You drank too much."

Drank too much? This was just the beginning! She hadn't drank anywhere near enough. Shaking her head at his words, her heavy curls bounced in protest. "I'm fine, Harry. I just—I need my shoes. I'm fine."

"Absolutely not. I cannot let you apparate home like this," Harry insisted, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone in his attempt to stop her.

"I was going to use the floo, you dunderhead." Hermione laughed, moving around the room slowly, her eyes to the floor in search of those damn flats. Where had she taken them off anyways?

"Hermione... Hermione." Harry tried his best to get her attention, but to no avail; she refused to meet his eyes. Moving across the room, his hand curled around her bicep, and he pulled her to a stop, forcing her eyes to find his. "'Mione. You're not leaving."

'Mione…. Gods, she hated that nickname, but now it sounded like home. It did something to that crushing darkness inside her, making hints of light burst around the edges of her consciousness. He remembered her nickname. She'd nearly forgotten it herself, it had been so bloody long since she'd heard it. Nine years… nine bloody years. "O—okay."

Harry's hand moved up from her arm, his fingertips brushing across her cheek as he pushed her fallen curls behind her ear. "Good. Now take a bloody seat on the couch. I'll get you a new drink," he encouraged.

Hermione gulped, her fingers flexing as the trembling began to pick up. Her heart beat wildly within her chest, and as much as she wanted to listen, she knew she needed to get away before she made another mistake. She needed to get away before she did something that would ruin this night, that would ruin their friendship. She was worthless. She was alone. She didn't deserve someone like him in her life. She was worthless.

"I-I should sleep," she stammered, backing away from his touch despite wanting nothing more than to press further into his caress.

He let her go, his fingertips ghosting across her cheek as she took several steps back from his embrace. He longed to chase her, to feel that electricity running between them, but he stayed put. Respecting her obvious need to get away, he gave a nod. "I'll show you to one of the guest rooms," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder to the dry bar before back to her. "I'm getting one more… would you like one to take with you?" he questioned as he began to back up.

One more. One more to take with her. One more wouldn't hurt. It would help. It would get her away from him, get away from this feeling. It would help mask the pain. Watching Harry maneuver around the furniture in his living room with a confident swagger, she gave him a small nod. Her trembling fingers smoothed out her skin against her thighs. "S-sure. One more—for bed."

Spinning on his heel, Harry let out a slow breath in relief. If she hadn't accepted, it would have made this exceedingly more difficult. Moving to the bar, Harry summoned their tumblers from the coffee table before pouring three fingers full of whiskey in each glass. Positioning his body to block the tabletop, Harry discreetly pulled open a drawer and withdrew a small vial from it. Dreamless Sleep. Combined with the amount of alcohol she had consumed, it could be deadly, but the talent management agent assured him that her tolerance was much higher than a normal witch or wizard by this point. Uncapping the vial, he emptied the liquid into her liquor before giving it a slow swirl to mix the two together, hoping she wouldn't taste the addition.

Harry crossed the room with a drink in each hand and a smile on his face. Holding out her tumbler, he took a small sip from his own. "I'm glad you came, Hermione," he confessed as she took the drink. "It's been too long."

Her right hand wrapped around the cool glass, the etched side digging into her palm as she tightened her hold. She gave a small nod and smile in response before lifting her drink, taking a large sip. It no longer burned the way it used to when she started drinking whiskey years ago. Instead, all she could taste was the smoke from the barrels it was aged in as it slid across her taste buds and settled in her stomach.

Sensing her hesitation, Harry motioned for her to follow as he left the living room and moved up to the second floor of Grimmauld Place. His sock-clad feet padded lightly against the floor as he moved down the hall, stopping in front of a gray painted door and pushing it open. "Here you are."

Harry turned to face Hermione, his free hand gesturing into the darkened guestroom he had done up for her, and as he spun around, he realised just how close she had been following him. They now stood practically nose to nose. Only their hands clutching their whiskey separated their bodies from touching. Emerald eyes flickered across her face, watching her lips part on a shaky breath, and her eyes dilated from the proximity of their bodies. Before he could talk himself out of it, before he could tell himself it was a bad idea and it was the whiskey making him act, his hand was on her cheek, and he pulled her towards him in a searing kiss.

Hermione heard the tumbler Harry had been holding smash against the floor, the whiskey and shards of broken glass hitting her feet as she stood paralyzed under his kiss. His fingers wound into her hair, his lips like shock therapy. It make her world shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, every flaw, every anxiety-ridden thought vanishing and suddenly all she could think of was him. He made her feel less alone. He made her feel wanted. It was temporary, but dammit if this kiss wasn't better than any whiskey she'd drank or pill she'd taken. Leaning into his body, her hand resting against his chest curling into his jumper, her nails scratching lightly as she pulled him further down toward her. She needed this. She needed this freedom. She needed to forget what being alone felt like. She needed to pretend like she wasn't broken.

With his a hand on her hip and the other tangled in her hair, Harry guided Hermione back as his mouth slanted over hers. His tongue was merciless as it dove between her lips, claiming every last part of her. His touch felt charged, his kiss sinking electricity into her bloodstream until all she could do was bend to his whim, her feet leading her back towards the bedroom. She wasn't supposed to want this. She shouldn't want this, but her brain seemed to be firing on the most primal of levels. There was no room to think of how bad of an idea this was or how this would only make the pain of Harry's eventually abandonment worse. He would never want someone like her. She was broken. She was worthless. She was alone.

His toes hit the threshold into the bedroom, the floor turning from hardwood into a soft carpet, and the transition was enough to send a jolt of reality coursing through his veins. As right as this felt, he knew it wasn't. One of her hands still clutched her tumbler of liquor. Her tongue tasted of firewhisky and wine. Her hipbone bit into his palm. She was sick. She was ill, and he was taking advantage of her. Gently pulling away, Harry worked to untangle her hand from his jumper as he took several staggering breaths. Shit. Shit. _Shit_! What the fuck was he doing? "I—We–We can't do this, Hermione."

 _No, no, no! He can't stop. He can't fucking stop!_ As the cold reality of what he was saying washed over her, Hermione's fingers curled tighter into his jumper, pulling him back down towards her, and their lips touched a second time, sending hot thrills of energy running through her body until he reluctantly pulled away again, his hand prying hers from his chest.

"I'm sorry. W-We can't… We can talk in the morning… we can talk—but… but we can't do this," he stammered, his heart shattering as he watched her body deflate. The light that had returned to her eyes dimmed until he saw nothing but ominous blackness consume her. How could he be so fucking stupid? How could he do this to her? This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to fix her! Not make it bloody worse.

She was worthless. She was nothing. She was alone. She was going to be alone forever. How could she delude herself into thinking he would want her, if only for one night. She was disgusting. The entire Wizarding World knew what kind of woman she was. Her demons were public knowledge by this point. Harry knew. He had to know. He would never want someone as filthy as her. She was worthless. She was nothing. She was alone. She was going to be alone forever.

Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor, her shoulders curling inward and shrinking her already petite size, and she nodded, her tongue darting out to run along her lower lip and collecting the last taste of his kiss before she turned away. She didn't utter a single word. What could she say that would right what had just happened? He didn't want her. She was worthless. She was nothing. She was alone.

Harry winced as the bedroom door slammed, the force shaking the pictures that hung on either side. Harry placed his hand on the door, using it to brace himself as he leaned in until his forehead pressed against the cold wood. "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing that she would be unable to hear his words. He was sorry for more than just the kiss. He was sorry for falling out of touch. He was sorry for letting his schedule get too busy to see her. He was sorry for nine fucking years. He was sorry for her parents. He was sorry for not telling Ron what a gigantic ass he was. He was just bloody _sorry_. He wanted to rush in after her, wrap her in his arms. and kiss away her pain. He wanted to fix her. He wanted his old Hermione back. He wanted that bushy-haired, smart-mouthed girl. He wanted to see that fire in her eyes.

Harry stood silently apologizing for all the wrongs in her life in the past ten years, waiting until he heard the heavy thunk of the tumbler she had been clutching hit the carpeted floor. Either the potion or the alcohol had finally lulled her to sleep. He couldn't be certain which did the trick, but either way it meant that he would have no rest for the next several hours. Pushing off the door, Harry stepped over the broken glass and made his way to the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he pulled out a Pepper Up potion and yanked the cork cap free with his teeth before tipping back the contents in the vial. His eyes watered as the thick peppery liquid slid down his throat to settle like a lead balloon in his gut. He could feel steam shoot out of his ears as the potion eviscerated the numbing effects of the firewhisky.

Harry set the vial on the sink before leaning down on the countertop with both hands curled around the side, his head hung low as he waited for the steam to subside. As the world came back into focus, he felt the beginnings of a headache gnaw at the back of his head, but he would have to wait until later to take care of it. His pain potions were all packed up in the boot of his rental car. He needed to get Hermione outside and in the back seat before he could search for them. He had a long drive ahead of him, and he needed to make good time if he planned on getting to the cabin before day break.

He knew she'd hate him in the morning, once the reality of what was happening came crashing down around her, but he had to do something drastic. He needed to fix her. He needed his friend back.

* * *

Author's Note:

Reviews are much appreciated.


	3. Waking Up

The sunlight splashing across her face felt like torture. Her head was pounding so violently she could feel the pulse of her muscles constricting in her temples. Rolling over onto her stomach, Hermione pressed her face further into the pillow, trying to drown out the glow of the sunlight. She could feel every fibre of the cotton slide against her face, scratching her skin as she smothered her face. She had not had a hangover in years; is this what they felt like? Her stomach churned, bile rising into her throat, and she coughed in an attempt to repress the urge to gag. Whatever whiskey Harry had was clearly of a higher calibre than she was used to drinking— that was the only explanation for why she felt like she was on death's door.

As she lay still, willing her stomach to slow the tidal waves of sickness, the soft chirping of birds outside her window sent a shiver of terror down her spine. She lived in the city; there weren't any songbirds in her neighborhood. There were hardly any pigeons. Grimmauld Place was warded to drown out the sound from the outside, an insistence from Walburga during her reign to prevent her from having to acknowledge she was surrounded by Muggles.

The chirping felt like daggers in her brain, piercing her skull in time with the throbbing headache. Sitting up quicker than she should have, one hand went to her stomach, clutching her abdomen as she dry heaved, while the other rose to block out the sun the best she could. Her eyes burned, tears blurring her vision, and she hunched over in the bed, fighting for air through the increasing wave of nausea. This wasn't normal. This was worse than any hangover. Something was wrong. Was she dying? What happened? Better yet, why wasn't she in fucking Grimmauld Place?

Her mind raced like a flighty bird, flitting from one thought to the next as she sat still, saliva pouring into her mouth in preparation for what little she held in her belly to come up. Pushing out of the bed, her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor as she untangled herself from the bedding, finally launching across the room to grab the closest receptacle she could find. Her hands tightened around the rim of the decorative vase she ripped off the dresser, and as she heaved into it, green bile poured out of her mouth. After retching for what felt like an eternity, she leaned against the tall bureau collecting her breath. The back of her hand wiped at her mouth as she blinked at the too-bright room. If she hadn't already known she was in an unfamiliar place, she absolutely would now.

The room was sparsely decorated. A simple wrought iron bed frame sat against the wall, flanked by two empty night stands. The four walls of the room were blank, not even nails embedded in the light colored wood. Everything seemed almost rustic, from the wood paneled ceiling down to the quilt comforter that she had been wrapped in moments ago. This was most definitely not somewhere familiar. Leaning down, she set the vase at her feet before assessing herself.

Her brows furrowed as she looked over her clothing. She was in a thick pair of gray sweatpants and a plain white cotton shirt. Reaching up to rub some of the tension from the back of her neck, she felt her hair wound in a single thick braid. Her fingers brushed over the soft loops of her contained curls. Harry… Harry had to have fucking done this! At first she wasn't sure, but even now she could distinctly remember teaching him to pull her hair back in a simple braid in the Forest of Dean. She had asked him for help since washing her hair was low on the priority list back then. _That bastard!_

Moving across the room quickly, Hermione yanked open the door to the bedroom and almost instantly regretted the decision. The sunlight in the hallway seemed brighter than it was in her room, nearly blinding as it reflected off of glass covered pictures that hung in the hallway. "Circe's tit," she cursed under her breath as she tried to shield the light while moving down the hallway.

She was going to throttle him. No—she was going to fucking kill him. What the bloody fuck did he think he was doing? She was not in the mood to go on a fucking vacation, let alone spent one more second in a room with him. She didn't have money, she didn't have clothing packed, and she most definitely did not have any Dragon's Breath with her. She knew she would need to take a pill soon, within the next couple hours max if she wanted to avoid the more severe symptoms. The shakes had already started; she could feel her entire body tremble as she marched down the hallway towards an archway she hoped would lead to the front of this shitty little house he had brought her to.

The living room was tiny. There was only enough room for a faded floral couch, small coffee table, and an ancient looking television set. Immediately behind the couch sat what was supposed to be the dining room, based solely on the fact a rickety looking table sat in the space. And there, at the table, sat Harry. His fork was lifted to his mouth, a piece of syrupy waffle dripping onto the plate below as he sat poised to pop the delectable breakfast into his mouth, but instead he sat frozen, emerald eyes wide with shock.

"Uh… good morning," Harry said after clearing his throat. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips nervously.

"Where the blood hell am I, Harry James Potter?!" Hermione demanded, her nostrils flaring as she began across the room. Dropping her arms to her sides, she fisted her hands, hoping that keeping them tight would hide the telltale signs of her shakes. The last thing she needed was to have him fucking notice them and derail her interrogation.

Harry slowly lowered his fork to the plate, resting it next to the half-eaten waffle that he was regretfully pushing away from him. The plate scratched softly across the oak, causing the metal fork to clink against the porcelain in a sharp rattle. When Hermione winced at the noise, her bloodshot eyes closing tight, he immediately withdrew his hands. Shite, that's right. He mentioned that she might be sensitive to noises. "What do you mean?" _Stall Harry. Just stall… everything will be okay. It's not like she can hex you._

Hermione felt her brain pulse at her temples in frustration. Between the sunlight, the racket he was making that sounded suspiciously like a baby mandrake's shrill scream, and the disgustingly sweet smell of his breakfast dish, she was closer to physically assaulting her friend than ever before. "What do I mean?" Her words sliced through the air like knives, each word popping with boiling rage. " _What do I mean?!_ "

Harry got out of the chair quickly and moved around the table until it lay between him and the furious witch that had begun to advance on him. It might have been nine years since they had spent time together, but years of history between them told Harry that answering her question would have been like verbalizing his request to be beheaded. Inside, his eyes stayed glued to the witch, mirroring her movement as she tried to work her way towards him.

"I _mean_ I'm not in your bloody house. I _mean_ I'm fairly fucking certain we are not even in London anymore! What the FUCK did you do!?"

"'Mione, please. Just calm down." Harry tried to reason, his voice soft and low. "Why don't you take a seat? I can explain everything if you just—"

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Harry, you _bloody kidnapped me!_ " Hermione snapped as she delivered a single blow to the table that sat between them in frustration. Harry had done plenty of stupid things before, but this had to take the cake.

"Honestly, Granger. It's not kidnapping once you're no longer a child," an icy voice called across the room from behind where Hermione stood. The hairs on the back of her next instantly raised, and a shiver ran the length of her spine. "Besides, let's not pretend like anyone will notice you're gone. It wasn't like you had a pressing schedule."

Hermione's mouth instantly ran dry, and for the briefest of moments, she watch as Harry's face turned from apologetic to relieved. Her head turned towards the source of the noise, her body slowly following until she faced him. Her childhood enemy. The source of her torment in school. A man she had not seen in a little over ten bloody years—at least not in person. Draco Malfoy. He was leaning against the archway into the living room with a casual apathy that made the already forming goosebumps run down her arms.

He looked older, which should come as no surprise seeing as it _had_ been a decade, but it was disarming. Time had been more than kind to him; instead of the white haired ferret she once knew, a man who had grown into his sharp features stood before her. He looked aristocratic—handsome, even. Who was she kidding, he was bloody gorgeous. "W-what are you doing here?" Hermione stammered, her brow knitting in confusion before her head snapped to look at Harry again. "What is _he_ doing here?"

Draco let out a long suffering sigh, his hands pushing up the arms of his forest green jumper to reveal toned arms before he pushed off the wall and began towards the small floral couch. His hand swept toward Harry casually. "Yes, Harry. Why don't you tell your little pet project what I'm doing here."

Emerald eyes narrowed on Draco, giving him a hard look, before Harry edged around the table towards Hermione. Merlin, this was already going to be difficult; did he really have to make it worse? As he approached Hermione, Harry reached out and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. "Look, maybe you should—"

"Don't fucking touch me!" Hermione jumped out of Harry's touch immediately, darting across the room. His touch felt like cat claws running down her back; the rough scratch of the white cotton shirt sent shockwaves down her spine.

"'Mione."

"Don't!" she reiterated. Dark eyes flashed up towards Harry in warning as she took another step back, her head shaking no.

"Stop being such a bloody imbecile, Granger." Draco looked over his shoulder at the witch, silver eyes gleaming across the room with annoyance. "Listen to your friend. He's quite possibly the only person on this planet who gives two shits about your well-being. So do us all a favor: be a good girl and sit the fuck down so we can get this over with."

Hermione hesitated, her eyes flickering between Harry and the back of Malfoy's head. Was this a set up? Why would he bloody do this? Why the hell would he invite Malfoy of all people?! Nine years was a long time, but to make friends with him—a boy he literally obsessively stalked and accused of being a Death Eater—was laughable. While it had turned out to be the truth, it seemed almost unbelievable that they would be… friends? No, clearly they weren't friends based on their body language. Colleagues? Last she heard Malfoy wasn't even in bloody England, but it wasn't like she was up to date on his latest coming and goings in the media, now was she?

Her curiosity had always been her downfall, so instead of telling them both to piss off, Hermione began to move towards the tiny sitting area. Her bare feet slid across the wooden floor in a careful approach. Instead of sitting beside Malfoy, Hermione chose the cushion farthest away from him, her body curling protectively against the arm of the couch as she looked to both Malfoy and Harry expectantly.

* * *

 _ **Eight Hours Earlier**_

Harry budged open the front door with his shoulder, his brow furrowing as he peered into the darkness to try to see where he was going. The drive had taken him nearly two and half hours due to delays on the motorway. By the time he found the cottage nestled amongst a thicket of trees on the outskirts of Burford, his eyes were growing heavy. The Pepper-Up Potion did wonders, but the crash from the magical elixir left little to be desired when they were used to treat hangovers.

He had carried Hermione bridal style from the car to the front door of the cottage, her cheek resting against his chest. He could feel her soft, sleepy breath wash over the sensitive skin on his neck as he crossed the threshold. Shifting her weight in his arms, Harry pulled her petite frame closer to him as he cautiously stepped in the room, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. When the letter from the talent management company instructed him to rent this place, he had thought there must have been a mistake when he found the listing. It was non-magical and in the middle of nowhere, nearly ten kilometers from the closest Muggle village and almost thirty to the closest wizarding, but a quick email to his point of contact revealed that there had been no mistake.

Even in the cover of night, Harry knew Wren's Nest was not going to contain the same comforts that Grimmauld Place had, but he was willing to make whatever sacrifice he needed to make sure the wisp of a woman in his arms was okay. He could feel her bones through her clothing, sharp and angular. Her vertebrae pressed against his forearm, each one prominent. She was small—too small. Much smaller than she had ever been back when they were on the run eleven years ago.

By the time he managed to make his way into a bedroom, lay her down, and turn on a low light, he allowed the sadness of her current condition to finally come to the surface. He watched her lying in the bed, her petite frame surrounded by soft swaths of fabric, her gentle breath the only sound filling the quiet room. It was almost like he could see the girl he grew up with underneath the surface, past the deep bags beneath her eyes and the sunken cheeks. When they were in school, she had held so much promise. Top of the class. Hermione could have practically recited their textbooks back to the professors, and she always earned the top makes. How had she fallen so far? How had she turned into something the tabloids loved to despise instead? Reaching out his hand, he smoothed over her curls, letting the soft strands of hair slip between his fingertips as he moved them all off her sleeping face. She was supposed to write text books like Bathilda Bagshot, travel like Newt Scamander. She was supposed to fight for the rights of beings who couldn't fight for themselves. She was built for a life much bigger than what had happened, and Harry felt responsible. If it wasn't for their friendship, she would have never ended up like this. She would have never fought in the war or lost her parents. She wouldn't be so bloody broken.

"Still pining for her after all these years, Potter?"

Harry jumped, his fingers flexing against Hermione's cheek instinctively as his head snapped to looked back at the door he had walked through moments ago. He would have recognised that icy tone anywhere. He stared unmoving, his mouth agape as his sleep deprived brain tried to catch up to what was in front of him. "Draco?"

"In the flesh," the blond wizard replied. He stood at the doorway, not daring to cross the threshold and ruin whatever little moment The Boy Who Lived and his project were having. His hands were tucked into an ankle length pair of slim navy trousers, and his crisp, cream coloured oxford was paired with a thin navy tie. He looked a far cry from the days of everything-must-be-black-and-broody.

Harry blinked as if the wizard were some sort of hallucination, but when he didn't fade away, Harry's brows nearly hit his hairline. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he whispered across the room, giving Hermione one last look before he moved off the bed toward the blond in the doorway.

Silver eyes watched Harry's approach with a smile sharp enough to hurt. A thin, curved brow lifted at his question. "Well, Potter. Judging by the file given to me and the correspondence I've been receiving all week, I believe you hired me to fix your little problem there," Draco replied in a low tone, his right hand moving from his pocket to gesture towards Hermione's silent form.

No… no, that wasn't right. Harry might have hurried through this process, but he absolutely without a doubt would have remembered if he had hired Draco Malfoy. Shaking his head quickly, Harry lifted his hand to run through his untidy black locks. "No—no, that's not right. I've been speaking with a woman. Christy or… Chrissy or something of the sort," Harry whispered, his lips pursing in disapproval. "And you're most certainly not her."

Draco chuckled despite Harry's disbelief, and he took a small step backwards out of the room and into the hallway to allow himself more freedom to speak at a normal tone. Bloody Gryffindors and their noble behaviors. Hermione was going to sleep regardless of how loud he was! From what Harry wrote in his final letter, he had planned on giving her dreamless sleep. Unless he bought it from a shoddy apothecary, it should have been enough to keep her asleep until mid-morning at the earliest. "I believe you mean Chrysanthemum. My assistant," Draco explained casually as he leaned back on the wall. "I expect she might have forgotten to mention I would be working on this case personally. She often forgets the minor details. If she wasn't so bloody brilliant at managing my time-table I would have let her go already."

"But… but I hired an American company! You're not American," Harry replied as his brow knit in confusion. How was this even bloody possible?! Hiring Draco out of all the fucking people in the United States. Sure, he had heard Draco made his way across the pond after the trials, but it had only been a rumor, hadn't it?

"Very astute observation, Potter. What other talents has age brought you?" Draco snarked, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"Draco, I don't think we can do this. I… if I had known—"

Draco's eyes rolled skyward in annoyance and he released a heavy sigh. "Look, let's not pretend like my company wasn't the only one that would even consider your request. I've got emails from my contacts with McGall & Dougal's, as well as Starr-lebrity indicating they declined your offer and you were shopping around for what they both called an 'impossible assignment.'"

"Fuck," Harry breathed, his hand lifting to rub over his face before pulling at his chin in disbelief. He knew Draco was right. He had been turned down four separate times before Draco's company accepted. Even so, there was no bloody way they could all work together. Draco and Hermione had history! They were far from friends while at school, and he highly doubted she would be thrilled to see him when she woke. Beyond that, he and the wizard had a complicated past. Living in the same house with him, no matter how small of a time frame, seemed more daunting of a task than actually getting his friend sober. "Draco, thank you for accepting, but I cannot accept your help—er, your company's help. This just isn't going to work."

"From where I'm standing, it looks like you don't have much of an option." Draco knew that convincing Potter he was the right man for the job wasn't going to be easy, but the truth was no one would be willing to touch Granger with a ten-foot pole. She was like a walking virus: one touch and most companies would crumble. His agency was truly the best fit. They mainly worked with clients in North America; therefore in the English and European markets, they were virtually unknown. They did not have a reputation to lose if this didn't work out. And if it did work out—well, then it sounded like he had expanded his business. If he was able to help a couple people he owed his freedom to in the process, then he'd killed two birds with one spell, hadn't he? "I can leave if it's what you truly wish, but take a moment to think about it. Without my help, the Golden Girl is likely going to end up face down in a gutter before the end of 2009. I've seen it happen far too many times in my line of work, even to the brightest of people."

Harry's eyes left Draco's, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He was right. Malfoy was fucking right, and he slightly resented him for it. Without help, Hermione would not get better. Without help, he might lose her completely. But fuck it all, why did it have to be _him_!? Of any fucking person in the world, Draco Malfoy was the git who he'd hired to fix her. His right hand rose to card through his unkempt black locks once again, fingers twisting the ends of a small patch near the peak of his hairline as he slowly nodded. It was as if he was reassuring himself this was the right thing to do. He could set aside his feelings for her… for his best friend. "You can fix her?"

Draco paused, debating if lying to Harry would be the best course of action, but as he watched those big emerald eyes look up at him imploringly, sympathy began to creep inside him. Leaning back against the wall, Draco gave the wizard a small shrug, his arms lifting to across over his chest. "I'm not a fucking miracle worker, Potter, but I can bloody well try."

* * *

"...spiraling out of control…"; "...like watching a train wreck…"; "helpless"; "addict"

Hermione sat silent as the grave listening to Harry talk about how much she had changed, how over the past couple of years she'd gone from the girl he remembered to a shell of woman. The only indication she was actually hearing the words he spoke was the occasional head nod she gave. What neither Malfoy nor Harry could see was the building rage inside her, boiling and bubbling to the surface with each harsh observation. Harry's words hurt. They hurt so fucking bad. Partially because she knew he was right. She did have a problem. She was helpless. She was spiralling out of control, but she couldn't stop it. She felt as fucking helpless as he did—probably more so!

She had no one. She was entirely alone. No friends. No parents. No bloody family to speak of. Harry left her. Ron left her, and she was forced to attend public events she despised. She was thrust into the spotlight repeatedly with zero consideration for what she wanted! She had begged them to let her stop two years after the war and before the Dragon's Breath. Before the drinking just to numb the pain. She begged to stop. She tried to tell the Ministry she wanted a quiet life, but no one would bloody listen.

Silent tears leaked from her eyes at the memory. Running the back of her hand across her cheek, she took a slow breath as she tried to put a stopper on her runaway emotions. Harry had no fucking right to do this to her! He bloody kidnapped her, and now he was sitting there telling her how shit her life was. OF COURSE IT WAS SHIT! HE FUCKING ABANDONED HER! It was his bloody fault any of this fucking happened.

Nine years. Nine bloody years since he'd even thought to so much as invite her to Grimmauld Place. Sure, they'd seen each other in passing at events in the beginning, but it had easily been over a year since they'd seen each other face to face! What the hell did he think she was doing? Didn't he read those bloody fucking magazines? Everyone else did. Suddenly, his words no longer mattered. The tears of shame were slowly replaced by anger as the unspoken rage at his abandonment overtook her. Harry had no bloody right to do this, to take her from everything she knew. And then to act like he was doing _her_ a favor?! He didn't bloody know her anymore. And WORSE, he hired fucking Malfoy? Malfoy?! Was he fucking stupid or just out of his mind?

"Fuck you!" Hermione interrupted Harry, brown eyes narrowing on him.

Harry looked taken aback, his brows lifted. His mouth still hung open in mid-sentence. "Uh… what?"

"Fuck. You." Hermione's voice cut through the air as she made sure to punctuate each word crisply, malice dripping in her voice. "You...You just show up and act like some bloody white knight and expect me to be grateful for this?! YOU FUCKING ABANDONED ME!"

"'Mione, it wasn't like that."

"Really? Because that's exactly what fucking happened, Harry. We defeated the Dark Lord, and less than two months later you signed your bloody contract and poof!" Her hands lifted, fingers splayed for full impact. "You were fucking gone. Did you ever once think of me? No, of course you didn't."

"I—I… that's not fair, 'Mione."

"Stop it. Stop fucking calling me that!" Hermione snapped, pointing her index finger at Harry. "You don't get to use that anymore. You don't have the bloody right to use it anymore. You fucking stopped being my friend the moment something more convenient came along and now you want to act like you're saving me. Well you know what? Fuck you. I'm not fucking doing this little game you've got going on with Malfoy. I don't have a bloody problem!"

Harry winced. Her words impaled him like invisible daggers, cutting deep enough to bleed. "Hermione, please don't do this."

Hermione rose from the couch, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor as she moved to put ample space between her and Harry. She didn't want to be near him. She didn't want to fucking _look_ at him! Trembling hands rose to smooth over her curls as her mind raced, running from one thought to the next like rapid fire. How could he think this was a good idea?! He barely knew her anymore! He fucking left her. Who the hell did he think he was? Just because he defeated the Dark Lord—well guess what! _She helped do that, too!_ She didn't have a bloody problem. _He_ was the bloody problem here! "No. No! You don't get to sit there and act so bloody innocent, Harry," Hermione spat, turning around to face the raven-haired wizard once more. "I have a bloody drink every now and then—so what?!"

As soon as the question left her lips, the tinkling sound of a callous laugh behind her made her skin crawl. Her lips pursed as she snapped her head over her shoulder, brown eyes narrowing on the blond. Was this funny to him? Was it the fight with Harry or the fact she looked like an absolutely raving lunatic? Either way, it only seemed to infuriate her more.

Draco's slow chuckle only picked up, his expression morphing from apathy to a sick sort of amusement that didn't quite meet his eyes. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a characteristically Malfoy smirk as he uncrossed his arms and lifted his hands towards her, beckoning her to continue.

"What's so damn funny?!" Hermione snapped, her trembling fingers flexing at her sides.

Silver eyes flickered from Hermione to Harry, noting the way the wizard eyes pleaded for him not to say a damn thing. Like the endless pools of the Caribbean sea that were Harry's eyes would convince him not to tell this witch the damn truth. Harry knew him better than that by now—didn't he? He wasn't hired for his gentle touch and polite prodding. Draco was the best in the business because he cut no corners. He spoke the truth—even when the truth meant pain. "Well…," Draco began, turning his attention back to witch witch who was acting more like his dead aunt than the girl he knew growing up. "You. Standing there lying to not only us but also to yourself."

"Excuse me?" Hermione's brows rose sharply. Crimson flush crawled across her face as her nostrils flared. "You don't know a bloody thing about me, Malfoy."

"Draco," Harry interjected as he moved from the couch to between the two of them. "Don't. Just… don't."

Draco pushed off the wall where he had been leaning on, side stepping around Harry as he began to close the distance between himself and Hermione. "It's pretty fucking obvious you have a problem, Granger. Look at you for fuck's sake." A hand gestured toward her, starting at the top of her head and running down to her bare feet, silver eyes following the same path. "You're about two stone too thin if I had to guess. Your eyes have pools of purple under them that are bordering on black, and this is after you've been given dreamless sleep. And how about we discuss your hands? They won't stop shaking, will they? No matter how many times you ball your fists or try to draw attention away from them, they won't bloody stop. Well here's a little secret for you, love: it's not because you're upset."

"Draco, stop it." It was no longer a request. Harry watched as Hermione began to visibly shrink into herself, stumbling back until her back hit the wall, the dining table separating her and Draco. Harry could take her verbal assault. Hell, he could take that shit from Draco if need be, but he wouldn't be able to stand by and watch him tear her down if that was his way of getting her clean.

"No! I'm not stopping because she needs to bloody hear this, Potter. If you don't like it, step outside." Draco glanced at Harry, his eyes narrowed, letting him know this was non-negotiable before he turned the full force of his ire back on Hermione. "You're a bloody mess, Granger. And that's putting it lightly." With a wave of his hand and a softly muttered spell, a brown leather attaché case zoomed across the room into his outstretched hand. Nimble fingers flipped opened the top flap, and he withdrew a thick manila envelope and tossed it across the table to her. The heavy thunk caused both Harry and Hermione to stare at it, finally drawing their eyes away from Draco.

Setting his bag at his feet, Draco pulled out the chair in front of him, the legs screeching across the wood from the quick force, and he moved it out of the way before leaning over to flick open the overflowing file. Inside lay newspaper clippings, magazine articles, and photos of Hermione over the past year. One after another showed nothing but the shell of a woman she had become. Different men, different clubs, and different clothes but the same hazy, half-awake look in her eyes. "You're a fucking addict, Granger. All of bloody England knows, and I'd wager to bet that somewhere deep in the recesses of your brilliant little mind, you know it as well."

"I-I'm not!" Hermione stammered, brown eyes glued to the file in front of her, watching as Malfoy pushed article after article towards her, reaffirming her deepest fears. She was worthless. She was alone. She would be alone forever. Why would anyone ever want her? Look at her! She was… she was a mess. She needed help. She needed a drink. She needed a pill. She needed to get the bloody hell away!

"Stop lying!" Draco snapped, his finger jabbing at the file. "Do you know how many bloody times you've been photographed with Charlie Weasley, Granger? He's a known fucking drug dealer. The Aurors have been monitoring him for ages but cannot find solid fucking evidence to lock him up."

Hermione's head shook, her trembling hands grabbing anxiously at the bottom of her shirt, stretching the material. "H-He's an old friend. He's Harry's friend!" she stammered, eyes flashing up to Harry, who stood just beyond Draco's shoulders, his eyes cast down at the table as he studied the articles and photographs with a growing melancholy. Her stomach lurched. Pity… he felt sorry for her. He would never understand. She was alone. She would always be alone.

"A friend? That's all?" Draco lifted a brow and when Hermione only responded with a nod of her head, he began to flip through the stack of papers until he found a small section of photos. These were different than the magazine articles and newspaper clippings, because they were loose, not connected to any writings or stories. These he had purchased directly from the photographer. He flicked them across the table toward her wordlessly, one after another. They showed various scenes of her meetings with Charlie over the years.

Memories flooded back as Hermione watched the photos come to life before her. The first series was nearly two years ago; she could remember it well. It was after the Minister's ball. She had tripped over the train of her dress on stage and toppled into the podium. She hadn't even been drinking that night! She'd promised her agent she would be sober, but that did not stop Ron from pulling her backstage and calling her horrible names. It didn't stop her agent from telling her she would have to find someone else to represent her. They all left her; they all abandoned her. They all just used her until there was nothing more. No money. No fame. Nothing.

Brown eyes began to swell with tears as the photographs morphed from a small drug deal behind the Ministry of Magic into a full blown shag against the dirty wall. Her torn dress was around her waist, and she gripped his shoulders as he pounded into her until he found his release. She never got off, not when they had sex. How could she? It wasn't for her—it was what he wanted. It was his favorite form of payment.

"Because this doesn't look like 'just friends' to me. How about this lovely little set here?" Draco kept flinging the photographs toward her, watching as they began to spill on the floor at her feet. The new set was shot through the large window of Charlie's office in London, but the image was crystal clear. Even if it had been blurry, she would have remembered it instantly because it had been less than two weeks ago. They showed Hermione on her knees, doing her best to make sure it wasn't bad. Doing her best to make sure she wasn't sloppy, so he might have some pity and give her a few more pills.

Harry let out a heavy breath, peeling his eyes away from the photographs, wanting to look anywhere else in the room. He knew it had gotten bad; that's why he hired Draco, but he didn't realise—he hadn't known! If he had known it was this bad he would have… he would have done something sooner.

When Hermione looked up at the sigh, watching Harry turn his back to them, his hands ruffling his hair like he did when he was flustered, she felt her heart snap in two. It shouldn't hurt—his rejection. Not after so many bloody years, but there was something about Harry. She didn't want him to think of her as less than. She didn't want him to know. Scrambling to the floor, she moved to sweep up the photos, bending the edges and crumpling them as she fought to catch those still descending on her from Draco. Her hands madly grabbed at the evidence.

"Stop fucking lying to everyone, Granger, and own your mistakes. You need help. You should be fucking thanking Harry instead of shouting at him. He's quite possibly the only bloody person in England who gives a shit about you."

Hermione stood, tears spilling down her cheeks unbidden as she pawed at the folder, desperately trying to collect the proof of just how shitty her life had become. Once she had stuffed most of the fallen images in the file, she slammed it shut before curling it against her chest, smothering the evidence of her fall, hoping that if the photos weren't visible, no one else would ever know her secrets. "Y-You're w-wrong!" she cried. Her vision was blurred by her tears. Hot. Shameful. They burned as they left trails down her flushed cheeks.

She needed to leave. She needed to get the fuck out of here. She needed to put kilometers between her and Harry and Draco. She needed fucking _out_. Her feet moved as her mind swirled through the stress of what she was sure was a rapidly approaching anxiety attack. The room around her felt too small, a pain deep in the center of her chest began to radiate through her entire being, and a sharp pain pulled at her stomach. She was falling, spiraling. She need to get away. She needed to find Charlie. She needed more pills. She needed a drink.

Reaching the front door of the cottage, she fumbled with the file, tucking it under her arm as she tried to open the door, but no matter how many times she jiggled the doorknob, it stayed shut. Trapped. She was fucking trapped. With a heavy burst of fresh tears, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the hard door as she felt the weight of the world crash around her. "Let me go," she managed through the tears, tugging at the doorknob. "P-please, just let me go."

Harry stayed silent, his eyes still downcast, looking at his socks. A fringe of black hair hid his own tears that pricked his eyes. It was bad enough hearing this, hearing Draco telling her just how bad she had become. He couldn't bear to watch her crumble. He wanted nothing more than to run across the room and wrap her in his arms. He wanted to smother her with love and comfort. He wanted to help, but he knew none of that would fix her now.

"Afraid we can't do that, Granger." Draco's clipped tone made no indication of pity. In truth, he didn't have one ounce of sympathy for the witch. He'd been there, on the edge of self-destruction, hooked on an illegal substance that dulled the pain until the world was bearable again. He knew exactly how she felt and how fucking scary the world seemed. The difference was he had to fight his own demons to get clean while she had Potter. She had a friend willing to pay him an absurd amount of money to help her.

"P-Please."

Draco moved slowly toward the door, his hands sliding into the front pockets of his trousers as he edged closer, careful to step over the trail of fallen photographs she had left as she tried to make her escape. "The cottage is charmed. You cannot leave without an escort. And right now, neither Potter nor I feel like taking a walk, so you're stuck."

Hermione felt her knees give out, buckling under the weight of the world, and she leaned against the door for support. Her hands lifted to smother her face, and she felt the file fall open at her feet. This wasn't happening. This wasn't fucking possible. She stayed there for what felt like an eternity, crying until she had no more tears left to shed. Red-ringed eyes lifted from the floor, where the story of her last two years laid bare at her feet, to seek out Harry. He was sitting on the couch, his hands running through his hair and twisting the tips on occasion, but his eyes didn't lift to find her. He was embarrassed. He hated her. He pitied her. She was alone. She was going to be alone for forever. Gulping down the rising urge to vomit, Hermione pushed off the door and moved quickly across the floor, her shoulder slamming into Draco's as she passed him. If they wouldn't let her out, she wasn't going to sit here and let them both judge her. She had done what she had to to survive. If Harry truly cared, why hadn't he been there nine fucking years ago when this all began?

Draco let her leave, silver eyes tracking her out of the living room. When the sound of the bedroom door slamming rang through the house, he released a heavy sigh. The tension he'd been holding in his neck subsided. She was going to be harder to break than he had been hoping. Obviously Gryffindors didn't lose their tenacity. Part of him was excited at the prospect. He'd actually have to work to get her to meet his goals. It had been a long time since he'd actually worked a case that was worth a damn. But the other part of him was terrified because if she was in this deep, it would mean she would have to claw her way out from the pits of despair she'd grown used to. He would have to break her habit in addition to building up her self-confidence enough that she felt like she could do it without his help.

Looking across the room to find where Harry had slunk off to, Draco's eyes softened as they found the wizard with his head hanging in his hands on the couch. Merlin, if fixing Granger didn't kill him, the world class guilt trip Harry was putting him on would. He looked so bloody broken, like the row that had just happened personally affected him. Crossing the room, Draco took the seat on the loveseat next to the wizard. He eyed him thoughtfully, carefully formulating his words but none of them seemed right. Reaching out, his hand came to rest on Harry's back in gesture that was as comforting as he ever allowed himself to become.

At Draco's touch, Harry let out a soft breath, his body instinctively leaning into Draco's touch, leaning back until their shoulders brushed. Harry slowly lifted his head, peeking through his thick black lashes at the blond wizard, his cheeks flushing pink as he realised just how close he was. "Draco… do you think this is a good idea?"

Draco's hand moved in soft circled across Harry's back, similar to how his mother would comfort him when he was a small child with a skinned knee. "What do you mean?" Draco tried to clarify, his brow knitting. "She needs to hear the truth, Potter."

"No, not about Hermione," Harry explained. His hands hung loosely between his parted legs, his elbows perched on his thighs holding him up. "I meant you and I working together… doing this."

Draco's hand stalled on Harry's back, his fingers twitching lightly against the ropey muscles, and he dropped his silver eyes from Harry's. He was bringing this up now? Shouldn't he have thought about this last night? Or even this morning before the witch had awoken? Biting the inside of his cheek, he gathered his resolve. His hand slid down Harry's back, fingers running the length of his spine before his palm came to rest on the cushion directly behind Harry. "Why wouldn't it be? I'm the best in the business _and_ your only option."

Harry's teeth sunk into his bottom lip, chewing on if thoughtfully as he watch the emotion ripple across Draco's face. It wasn't obvious, but after spending nearly seven years in the castle with him, Harry knew his tells better than he liked to admit. He blamed it on his year stalking the blond wizard, studying him, but the truth was he'd learned them even before that year.

Still reading Draco's face, Harry finally replied. "Well, historically speaking, we generally find it quite hard to be around each other for prolonged periods of time without fucking."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Sorry this took a bit. Even thought it was written, I've been ill and not feeling up to editing/posting/being human. Hope ya'll enjoy. Some dialog inspiration for this chapter came from a lovely HBO show - Succession. Check it out.

Come interact with me on tumblr ms-merlinblack

Beta: Ravenslight


	4. The Chance Encounter

_**Winter 1998**_

Six months. It had only been six months since the Battle of Hogwarts, but, by the way his life seemed to be moving in fast forward, it felt more like days. One day he had been waking up in a drafty tent in the middle of the forest, and then, within the blink of an eye, he was thrust into the finest robes money could buy and forced in front of flashing cameras. It had taken him a while to get used to the unexpected fame he walked into at eleven, but this was much harder to acclimate to. His new assistant—Aurora—never left him alone. She was at Grimmauld Place by five a.m. and did not leave until close to ten p.m., which was precisely why he was out at nearly midnight on a Tuesday. He wanted to get away. He wanted to not be noticed, not be told where to go or what to do. He just wanted to fucking breathe.

Today was hard—actually, it was bloody brutal. Today he returned to Hogwarts for the first time since the War's end, and he had to break up with Ginny. They weren't supposed to date anyone, especially him. He was "Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The Slayer of the Dark Lord, The Chosen One, England's Most Eligible Bachelor," all of which meant he absolutely could not date anyone. He had to appear available. According to Aurora, it sold more magazines, which meant more sponsor contracts, which meant more money. He hadn't been particularly bothered about ending things with her. Part of him had been wondering for weeks now if he had made a mistake by jumping back into a relationship with her so soon after the war's end. She was still finishing up her schooling, had potential Quidditch contracts on the horizon, and would likely have about as much time to spend with him as he did her post-graduation. Beyond the mounting reasons to end their relationship, there was also the fact that the spark between them was gone. Vanished. He didn't get the butterflies he used to when they touched their kisses felt hollow. Perhaps his interest in her had been amplified by the war. Not wanting to die alone made people do silly things.

She took the break-up well–thankfully. No tears. No begging him to reconsider. She said she understood and gave him a sympathetic smile and a hug before taking off to join Luna, who had been walking towards Hagrid's hut. But that wasn't what made it brutal. It was being back there, in a partially completed castle, with the memories of the bodies that littered the courtyard and the obvious destruction that they were trying to heal from. He caused it—inadvertently, sure, but he was still the bloody reason so many of his friends had died. Lavender, Fred, Dobby, Colin, Remus, and Tonks. They would all still be alive if it wasn't for him. There were more though. More he didn't know the names of. More students who risked everything to fight beside him. He didn't even bloody know them, but they still stood their ground, and now he never would. Walking across those grounds made him feel empty inside. Like there was no ounce of joy left inside those hallowed grounds. Like he should have been the one buried instead of all of them.

That was why he found himself walking down Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night. He couldn't go home. He didn't want to be alone—not when he felt like this. He couldn't see his friends. Hermione was in France on some mission, and Ron was busy. Ron was always busy lately, but he couldn't really blame him. He doubted that Ron was even made aware of his attempts at arranging a time they could get together. It wasn't like they were exactly managing their own social calendars anymore.

The crisp winter air bit against his cheeks as it flung slurries of snow into the air. Harry could barely make out the crunch of his boots as he moved down the alley. He wasn't sure what he was doing here, as despite the Ministry's efforts to clean up Knockturn Alley, it was still not a place he should be wandering in the middle of the night for there were far too many people who had sworn vendettas against him. He knew it was reckless, but at this point it didn't matter. He needed to do something with a little risk. He'd been cooped up for too long, under the Ministry's thumb for too long. He needed to stretch his wings a bit and maybe cause a little trouble in the process. What they didn't know didn't hurt them, right?

Harry fought his way through the cold winter night, winding his way up the alley until the frost covered sign of a white dragon came into view. The White Wyvern. He'd passed the establishment the small handful of times he'd come down this alley, but the draw of a drink was never as strong as it was tonight. He'd shied away from the more reputable establishments because they were typically crawling with reporters, but he doubted he would find a single Prophet employee inside here.

He moved briskly to the front door, shivering as a gust of wind swirled the frost at his feet and traveled up his thick winter robes. Stepping into the pub, Harry lifted his emerald eyes from the ground to scan the room. It was nearly empty, only a couple patrons hung around the back tables. Women—sex workers if he had to guess by their attire. A year ago he might have run out at the thought, but now he couldn't judge. Work had been scarce since Voldemort took control of the Ministry and even after his inevitable fall people needed money. Minister Shacklebolt couldn't just create jobs overnight, no matter how hard he tried. People were just trying to survive, using whatever means they had as their disposal. He used his fame while other used their bodies, and truth be told, it almost felt the same at the end of the day.

The bar top was empty, and the too-hard seats looked more inviting than the darkness-shrouded booths that lined the perimeter of the room. His heavy boots thumped softly against the old carpet, and he took the seat closest to the end of the bar, hoping to use the shadows as a means to hide away from prying eyes. When the barmaid approached, he dropped his eyes to the sticky countertop, and his right hand rose, fingers twisting into his dark hairline and tugging it hopelessly over the curved scar on his forehead.

"What'll it be?" the gruff witch barked. Her voice was raspy and thick, as if she'd smoked thousands of cigarettes in her years.

"Merlin's Bourbon," Harry mumbled the first brand that came to mind. He'd never actually drank the stuff, but he'd done a photoshoot for the brand two weeks prior and the logo popped to his mind almost instantly. It was hard to forget. The ancient looking wizard in a crooked hat with what appeared to be a badly drawn owl behind him.

The witch did not give him a second glance. Instead, she gave a small grunt before a foggy crystal tumbler was set roughly in front of him and the amber liquid was poured to the rim. Harry reached into the front pocket of his jeans and withdrew a handful of coins. Flicking through the sickles and knuts, he withdrew three large galleons, the gold coins shimmering in the soft lighting of the bar, and he set them on the grimey countertop before sliding them to the witch. "Keep them coming."

Harry wasted no time taking a large mouthful of liquor, letting the full-bodied smoky bourbon dance across his tongue, savoring the flavor before he swallowed. It was different than what he was used to, immensely different than the firewhiskey his Godfather had favored. Lifting the glass to eye level, Harry swiped his thumb over the cloudy surface, watching the light reflecting through it with a morbid curiosity. He hadn't thought about Sirius since moving into Grimmauld Place. His life was so damn chaotic he barely had time to think about himself. Harry wondered what Sirius would think of this new lifestyle he'd fallen into. Would he encourage him to enjoy the ride or be disappointed with the decisions he'd made?

While Harry's mind swirled with thoughts of lost loved ones, across the room hidden in the shadows sat a blond wizard who was battling his own demons. He'd come to frequent The White Wyvern since the war's end. Although the clientele of this establishment was not one his father shied away from associating with, Draco found the patrons to be less than appealing. Known criminals, opposers of the current Ministry administration, defenders of Dark Wizards, and those who gained their income from less than legal means: these were all people that he was supposed to stay away from per the terms of his parole. They were far from high society, and he most certainly made a point to avoid uttering a single word to them. He did not come to this pub for company, but rather for solitude. He was able to spend his time hidden amongst England's most deplorable and not have a second glance thrown his way. After all, he was rumored to be the boy who took down the Great Albus Dumbledore. His rapidly deteriorating public image was at least able to offer him some peace amongst society's worst.

He was midway through the bottle of Scotch he had purchased from the bar when Potter walked in. Harry-Fucking-Potter. The boy—no, man—that he had spent years hating for no other reason than his immediate fame. Harry did not have to try to keep friends, nor did he worry about how he looked in public. Harry was a legend from the time he was in nappies, and now the bloody fuck was plastered all over magazines and newspapers. Worse, the stupid git went to his sentencing hearing. He didn't speak on his behalf like that idiot friend of his—Granger— but the fact that he sat in the stands watching as he begged not to join his father in Azkaban was bad enough. Draco would never forget the look on Harry's face. The way his too-big emerald eyes shimmered in the artificial blue light of the room, making them look like endless pools of turquoise water. Pity? No—it wasn't pity. It was sympathy. Like Harry wanted to do nothing more than run down to the dais and defend him. Bloody Gryffindors and their god-complex.

Draco's fingers tapped idly against the side of his tumbler, watching Harry work his way through two glasses of whatever watered down excuse for liquor Greta was pouring. He could sense a familiar sort of misery exuding from him across the room, like he was trying to find answers in the bottom of the bottle. He knew that misery all too well, and most specifically, he knew that Harry would never be able to find what he was looking for. Part of him wanted to let Harry learn this lesson on his own, but knowing the type of environment they were in, he doubted it would be beneficial to allow Britain's most famous wizard to be taken advantage of in his favourite drinking spot.

Muttering a soft curse under his breath, Draco gathered both his bottle of scotch and tumbler before rising from the dark table. He manoeuvred through the empty room, black dragonhide loafers making no noise as he approached the wizard from behind, silver eyes flickering down the length of the bar towards a small collection of witches who lingered at a nearby table. They were watching Harry hungrily, like a bird of prey ready to strike. "Despite your best efforts at remaining invisible, sitting at the bloody bar isn't exactly discreet, Potter. But then again, espionage was never your forte, was it?"

Draco watched as the full force of those eyes turned on him, wide with shock and a twinge of something else he couldn't make out. Relief? Familiarity? Whatever it was, Draco tried not to dwell on the particulars as he leaned against the bar top and his arm brushed against Harry's, sending a jolt of electricity across his skin.

"Malfoy?" Harry's thick black eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle of his forehead as he stared at the blond for a moment, his brain not firing on all cylinders due to the three tumblers full of whiskey that he had just consumed. As their arms brushed, Harry's spine straightened. A sharp snap of magic running straight to the center of his chest kick started his heart. Gulping, Harry's eyes flickered down to look at where their skin still touched before glancing back up to Draco. What the hell type of reaction was that? It almost felt like—no. No. This was fucking Draco Malfoy. There was no bloody way he felt like _that_ about him. He didn't even like blokes. Not like that at least.

"Very astute, Potter. I can see you've only become cleverer since Hogwarts," Draco drawled, molten silver eyes swirling with sharp amusement on the wizard's behalf. Glancing past Harry, he surveyed the room cautiously, noting the way the group of witches in the corner seemed to sink back into the darkness now that he'd come to rescue the Idiot-Boy-Who-Lived from the big bad demons that lurked in the shadows of this establishment. "What are you doing here, Potter? This isn't like the Hogs Head, you know. There are people in here who would love to have their wicked way with you."

Draco watched as Harry's Adam's apple traveled the length of his throat with an audible gulp. He doubted very much the boy wonder knew he was referring to actual danger as opposed to debauchery, but he wasn't going to correct him. This deer in headlights look he was currently wearing was almost appealing. It made him look vulnerable. Like he wasn't the saviour of the Wizarding World but rather just another person at the bar. The past between them was rocky, at best, but so much had changed since the the final battle and even more since either of them had graced the corridors of Hogwarts together. He was different now, still bitter and angry, but different.

When Harry made no response, Draco leaned closer to the wizard and lifted up his bottle of scotch. The sound of the glass bottle hitting the tumbler Harry clutched in his palm like a lifeline barely registered as he poured three fingers full for him. "Come on, let's get you in the shadows."

Harry watched as Draco pushed off the bar top with an air of confidence that straddled the line between impressive and arrogant. While part of him wanted to follow and see what the blond had to say, the other part was terrified. He had come here to be alone. To get away from people who knew him, to process how dramatically his life had changed in the past several months. Joining Draco was going to squash his plans of introspection, and beyond that, whatever that spark was between them was more than a little concerning. What the hell did it mean? Why did he experience it now? It was the liquor. It _had_ to be the bloody liquor.

He waited until Draco was halfway across the room, watching him serpentine his way through the tables and chairs, before he looked back at the refilled drink in his hand. Lifting it to his nose, he took a tentative sniff to try to determine what lay inside. It was a different amber colour than the drink the barmaid had poured; the sheen to the liquid appeared less gold and more flat. Taking a tentative sip, his eyebrows lifted as the woody flavor burst to life. Swallowing down the decidedly earthy alcohol, he felt a bite at the back of his throat from the slow burn of it hitting his belly. Harry supposed he could join Draco for just one drink; after all, it was polite. And he could ask him what he'd poured him, right? Just one drink.

Sliding off the barstool, Harry found his footing on the old wooden floor before he began after Draco. The pair tucked themselves into the far corner of the bar in a small booth. From this vantage point, they could see whoever came in or left The White Wyvern, but it also meant they had to sit shoulder to shoulder as opposed to across from one another.

As Harry settled into the worn leather beside him, Draco refilled his own drink before setting the bottle between them. He curled both of his hands around the crystal tumbler, his thumbs swiping along the cut glass absentmindedly. "Are you going to answer my question or just leave me in a constant state of curiosity for the remainder of the evening?"

Harry glanced over to Draco, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. He'd been so focused on that strange new tingle of magic that he'd almost forgotten Draco had asked something earlier. "I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn't be recognized."

"That would be quite literally impossible."

"So I've realised," Harry replied in a breathy whisper before his eyes dropped down to stare at the drink between his own hands. He ran his index finger around the rim of the class idly, watching as the amber liquid inside reverberated the movements in soft ripples. "And you?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm enjoying the scenery." Draco swept his hand in front them sarcastically before he dropped it to the small space between their bodies on the cushion of the booth. His pinky and ring finger brushed against Harry's denim covered thigh, but even through the thick layers of clothing, he felt it again. The spark. It was duller than before but obviously still present. He watched Harry jump at the jolt of magic and shift away from his accidental brush before twisting in his seat so they could face one another more easily.

Harry would never have thought he might actually enjoy conversing with his childhood nemesis, but before he knew it, the one drink had turned two which lead into many more, and suddenly an empty bottle of scotch sat between the two wizards who were savoring the last sips in their glasses. Harry wasn't sure if it was because of the taste or simply because he didn't want the conversation to end. There was a magnetism about Draco that was drawing him in. It was indescribable. He'd spent years around this man before and had never felt anything like it, but to be fair, they had never been friendly before. Which begged the question why now? Why was Malfoy letting down his guard and allowing Harry a glimpse behind those carefully constructed walls. Why was he being so bloody nice? Better yet—why was he returning the sentiment?

"So no girlfriends, no public debauchery of any kind–" Draco's right hand swirled the latch remaining sip of scotch around his glass idly, stormy gray eyes watching the amber liquid dance around the crystal. "–sounds like fucking torture." He let out a breathy laugh, finally lifting his eyes to find Harry's, silently relishing the way Harry's already alcohol-flushed cheeks crimsoned just a bit more.

"Er… I mean I guess it's not ideal," Harry agreed, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip nervously. "But it wasn't exactly like I was doing—well, any of that before..." His voice trailed off, letting the acts Draco spoke of linger unspoken between them. His eyes dropped away from Malfoy's to look at the glass clasped between his hands when the wizard's trademark smirk spread wider across his lips, causing his own blush to deepen as he thought of how it would feel to have Draco's lips pressed against his own. Would they feel as soft as they looked? Would they cause the warmth that radiated across his skin every time they accidentally touched to amplify?

Draco set his glass down on the table, the noise of the crystal settling on the soft wood sounding louder than it should, but it seemed everything between them was amplified now. Cocking his head to the side as his gray eyes peered through the dim lighting, he watched what seemed like an internal battles of wills that waged war within the alcohol-fueled mind of the Boy Who Lived. "Well, you could always try your hand at it—out of the public eye, of course. I'd be more than happy to offer you my assistance should you feel the need to explore any lasciviousness that lurks beneath your boy-hero persona," Draco offered coolly, like one would offer to pick up milk from the grocers on their way home.

"Wh−at?" Harry coughed, choking on his own saliva as his head whipped up to look at Draco, emerald eyes wide beneath his round framed glasses. Maybe he'd misheard him. There was no bloody way Malfoy could have just said what he did. This was—no, absolutely not. He was being nice but—that? No. When Draco only laughed in response, the soft melody sent an involuntary shiver down Harry's spine. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he quickly swallowed down the last bit of scotch in his glass, letting the smoky liquor mix into the fire that roared in the pit of his stomach.

Draco's hand dropped beneath the table, and he withdrew a long thin skeleton key from his trouser pocket, twisting the cold metal between his fingertips thoughtfully as he watched Harry's eyes flicker across his face, trying to read past the surface deep emotions that he let filter through the layer of apathy he normally wore. Leaning closer toward the wizard, he heard Harry's breath hitch as their shoulders brushed. Closer now than ever before, Draco kept leaning in until his mouth hovered centimeters away from Harry's ear. "You can run home and play into your public image, or you can join me upstairs—" His lips brushed against the shell of Harry's ear as he slipped the skeleton key into the front pocket of Harry's jeans. Draco felt him tremble under his gentle touch, and laying his hand on Harry's leg, he felt the thick muscle twitch in response as he brushed his fingers lightly across the inside of his thigh. "—should you feel so inclined."

Harry sat frozen, his eyes wide as a foreign heat flushed over his body as Draco's hot breath washed down across his neck, igniting goosebumps across the skin on his throat and shoulders. Emerald eyes fluttered closed as Draco's hand rested on his thigh, and before he could even process the words that Malfoy had purred into his ear like some sort of sex dragon, he felt the hand slide up to cup his cock through the jeans. Harry let out a noise between a squeak and a moan, every last ounce of air leaving his lungs when he felt those long, nimble fingers squeeze gently at his erect cock. He had been trying to hide this attraction for the better part of their conversation, but hiding it obviously did little good considering Malfoy was rubbing the heel of his hand across him as if assessing his length right in the middle of the bloody fucking bar room.

And just like that, the contact was gone, and the heat radiating from Malfoy that was warming the side of his body vanished. Harry's body lurched, leaning towards where Malfoy had been sitting as if to seek out the missing warmth. His eyes opened, and Harry remained still, watching as Draco collected his overcoat and draped it over his arm before moving across the room towards a single staircase that lead to the second floor of the pub and, he assumed,where the hotel rooms were. How could Malfoy walk away and act like the proposition he'd just whispered in his ear was nothing out of the ordinary? As much as Harry wanted tuck tail and run from this bloody pub to the safety of Grimmauld Place, there was something drawing him into following after the wizard. And perhaps that was the scariest part about it all.

Harry's eyes dropped to the table once Draco disappeared up the stairs, and he withdrew the key from his pocket. It felt like a millstone in his fingers: heavy and foreboding. If he were to accompany Draco upstairs, he was certain nothing good would follow, but if he didn't, he would spend the rest of eternity wondering what if. He'd never considered himself gay—seeing as he'd never felt like this about a bloke before—but suddenly the question wouldn't leave his mind. What if he _was_? What if he only thought those amorous feelings that stirred within him in his youth were for women? How would the wizarding world react? Better yet, how would he react?! But he couldn't be gay? He'd never felt like...that about a bloke before! Hell, he wasn't even sure if he felt like _that_ about Malfoy! He had drank enough to incapacitate a small mountain troll—surely his ability to make coherent thought was compromised. That was the excuse he would use in morning if he still felt conflicted about this whole mess.

Harry's fingers curled tightly around the key as he pushed up from the table. He needed a night of freedom, a night of not following the bloody rules and just acting on impulse. It had been months since he'd broken any sort of rule, and while living without fearing for his life was a much welcomed result of Voldemort's defeat, he was beginning to feel a bit complacent with the normalcy of the day-to-day drivel. He had toyed around with becoming an Auror during fifth and sixth year, but it was made explicitly clear after the Battle of Hogwarts he was not going to be allowed into that line of work. No, the Ministry had bigger plans for him than "just catching dark wizards." Kingsley informed him his time fighting on behalf of the Wizarding World was done; he was going to go start a more diplomatic approach to helping secure peace.

He moved up the stairs two at a time, his trainers squeaking softly on the aged wood as he turned the key over in his palm so the engraved room number was in view. The hallway was even more dimly lit than the pub below, but even through the soft lighting he could make out the grime that lined the baseboards of the hallway. The wood held a thick layer of dirt, only the center of the hallway providing a path where shoe scuffs routinely disrupted the filth that settled on its surface. It was almost disarming to think that Malfoy would find himself in a hovel like this by choice.

He moved past the shabbily painted doors until he reached number four. Four—Harry's least favorite number in the world. Number _four_ Privet Drive. The _fourth_ triwizard contestant. _Fourth_ year was when it all began—Voldemort's return. His skin prickled as the faded painted number glared at him from the door, an ominous sign. Nothing good ever came from this number; it should have been a clear sign for him to run away before anything further progressed. But the risk reward ratio seemed to be vastly skewed in his mind because all he could think about was Malfoy's hand on his thigh and the purring voice in his ear. The key slid into the slot with no resistance, and with a twist of the cold metal doorknob, Harry pushed his way inside Malfoy's rented room.

His heart pounded wildly beneath his chest like he'd just run a marathon. This was the furthest thing from what he was supposed to do be doing right now. Aurora would most definitely not approve, but he couldn't care less about playing by the rules. He wanted to figure out what this feeling was between him and Malfoy. He wanted to give in to spontaneity and figure out the bloody details later.

Draco was across the room leaning against a rickety table, his fingers working the buttons of his black oxford open. He hadn't bothered to glance up when Harry entered the room. He knew exactly who had walked in the moment he crossed the threshold; Harry's magical signature was like a bull in a china shop: loud, overwhelming, and very distinct. It was like every particle of magic that hung in the air between them ignited, and the once cold room was nearly instantly stiflingly hot.

Shrugging out of his oxford, Draco draped it over the back of the chair he stood next to, leaving him in just a crisp pair of black trousers and a gray undershirt that clung to his lithe frame. Gray eyes lifted to find Harry's, and without a single word, he held out his hand towards him, silently beckoning the raven-haired wizard to come further into the room to him.

He watched Harry hesitate, his fingers twisting around the skeleton key as he pulled it from the door before he moved the metal object back into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Come on, Potter." Draco's voice was soft, still the same purr from before. "I won't bite."

Harry's leaned back against the door, which closed behind him with an affirmative snap. The sound felt like the final nail in this coffin. He wasn't leaving. He wasn't going to run from this. Even here, feet apart in the shabby rented room, he could feel the sexual tension between them. He gulped, trying desperately to will his feet to move him towards the inviting wizard, but they were firmly planted to the ground.

Draco chuckled, his teeth plucking at the corner of his bottom lip. It was almost adorable—this whole deer in headlights look. Gryffindor courage brought this lion into his room, but it appeared he might need a little convincing to actively participate in this sort of release. Pushing off the table, Draco's hands dropped to the hem of his undershirt, and he peeled it over his head, revealing the lean muscles that lay beneath. He was far from athletic. The muscles he had once built during four seasons of Quidditch had long disappeared. There had been no time to practice or worry about his physique when he was just trying to stay alive, trying to stay hidden, out of view from a mad man who had tasked him with so much already. Now he was lean, wirey, like one of those street fighters his father would bet on four shops down the alley. Especially since marring the ivory expanse of his chest and abdomen lay the still-pink scar that the wizard he was approaching had given him. It started at his left collarbone and zig-zagged across his body, trisecting him like some sort of botched surgery patient.

He heard Harry inhale sharply, and before he could give the wizard a chance to change his mind, Draco was on him. His right hand found Harry's hip, his palm pressing against the sharp bone and urging him back into the soft wood of the door while his left hand planted itself against the door beside Harry's head. He leaned in, his chest pressing into the brunette wizard's, and in one fluid motion, his mouth found Harry's.

Almost instantly the magical energy between them cracked. Draco couldn't be sure if the noise he heard was in his mind or real, but the feeling they'd danced around all evening consumed them both. Years of repressed anger, spite, frustration, and lust mixed together until they formed a near violent maelstrom. Their kiss was fierce, both vying for control, but it was clear Draco would have the upper hand, as he was unwilling to allow Potter to over take him. His hand forged an unforgiving path across Harry's hips as he moved to touch the wizard's skin.

A zap of magic coursed through Harry's veins as soon as Malfoy's hands connected with the skin on his abdomen, the feeling of his nails scratching lightly along the sensitive skin until they brushed through the small smattering of black hair that lined his pecs. He inhaled sharply in response to the foreign magic, and his head tipped back against the door as he tried to catch his breath. This was more than he had expected. The overwhelming sensation, the franic need to have him touch him more, to figure out what this all bloody meant. Harry felt drunk, but not from the liquor that he had just consumed. No, the buzz from the alcohol evaporated the moment Malfoy's lips found his. This was new. It felt like power, raw energy that only grew each time they touched. He wanted more—he _needed_ more.

It did not take long for Harry and Draco both to look themselves in the inferno of lust and magic that had swirled between them all night. Like gasoline to a fire, their mere proximity fans the flames and before long the silent thoughts and doubts they shared vanished. There was no room to think about the what if's or the complications. Instead, they spent the rest of the night focusing on the only thing that made absolute bloody sense in that moment. Finding release with each other in the most carnal ways possible.

When the early morning rays of light danced across Harry's face pulling him from his slumber, he half expected to find himself in the arms of a snarky blond. The last thing he remembered was drifting off to sleep listening to the steady thump of Malfoy's heart as he had tried to collect his thoughts. He had planned on telling him it was a one time thing, on thanking him for opening his eyes to a very confusing part of himself but stating that they obviously couldn't continue.

Instead, he found an empty bed and a folded up piece of parchment on the pillow that still smelt of Draco. Fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand, Harry pulled them on before snatching the note off the pillow. He felt an odd twinge of residual magic from last night pulse through him as he rolled onto his back, lifting the note into the light so he could read it.

 _Potter,_

 _Duty called, and you looked far too comfortable to wake. Should you feel the need to explore your newfound deviation, I shall be at The Hag's Kiss in Manchester for the next three nights. Feel free to make yourself at home. Room 4 - perhaps it shall be our lucky number?_

 _D. M._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Beta: Ravenslight  
Alpha: Disenchantedglow

Without either of these two ladies, this fic would be a hot mess and would never come about! Thank you all for the kind reviews, keep them coming. They help inspire me to write more! Come interact with me on tumblr ms-merlinblack .


	5. Withdrawal

The shaking wouldn't stop. She'd experienced the withdrawal symptoms before, but she never knew precisely what they were. If she had put any ounce of actual thought into it, she would have been able to deduce it was a result of her bodies' dependency—but why would she have ever bothered to investigate? She had never let it get this bad before. She had always managed to find her fix when the trembling began. She had always told herself the shaking was just nerves, that a drink or a pill wasn't required to make it go away; they just helped calm her down. They helped clear her mind from the overwhelming consuming black mass of thoughts that threatened to swallow her hole. But here she lay, in the middle of the small twin size bed, losing herself to a darkness she was not prepared for.

She could vaguely make out the sound of shuffling feet over the sound of her heartbeat. Her eyelids felt heavy; she couldn't bring herself to reach out to whoever came into her room. In truth, she didn't fucking care. Nothing mattered anymore. She wasn't going to be alone for forever because she was near certain that death's embrace was awaiting her on the other end of this fever-induced delirium in which she found herself. One moment, she was in the cottage, writhing from the pounding pains in her head and the twisting knot of agony in her gut, and then the next, she was back at Hogwarts running through the halls while the battle raged on around her. She couldn't discern which was reality or which was a dream. Every memory that her mind made her relive felt so real. She could taste the blood that spilled behind her lips when Dolohov's hex sliced into her side in the Department of Mysteries. She could feel every fierce tremor that wracked her body when she was finally freed from her petrification and the overwhelming sense of dread that something terrible had happened to Harry and Ronald in her absence. She could feel the trickle of blood run down the side of her neck and pool beneath her on the floor as Bellatrix LeStrange held the cursed blade to her neck, the excruciating burning that rippled through her body as the magic imbued in the blade drove straight into her soul, devouring every source of hope and light left in her body and replacing them with despair.

She relived the worst moments of her life on repeat. Like a commercial loop specifically designed to break her down to nothing, Hermione could not pull herself from the nightmare. She slipped in and out of consciousness, only returning to the present when the compulsion to vomit became too great. She had nothing left in her stomach by the end of the first night, but her body refused to give in. Instead of bile, blood poured from her lips into a porcelain bowl that had appeared beside her in bed.

That was the same night the visions began. They started with black worms crawling under her skin, igniting every nerve in her body until all she could to do was scream for relief from the pain. She clawed at her face and chest, desperate to let whatever burrowed in her free just so the pain would stop. She begged for relief between retching, for someone—anyone—to just kill her. She wasn't worth it. She couldn't take the pain anymore. She'd fought her demons for so long, but she was ready. Ready to join all those who fell during the final battle. She was ready to see her old classmates who never got the chance to experience life beyond their teenage years and ready to wrap her arms around Tonks' middle once more and tell the metamorphmagus how much Teddy looked like her. She was ready to sit for tea with Remus and a fire whiskey with Sirius. She was ready for Death to wrap his bone fingers around her throat and usher her into the sweet embrace of permanent nothing.

Seventy-two hours. Draco had promised him it would only take seventy-two hours for Hermione to be free of the demon that lingered inside her body. Seventy-two fucking hours for her to detox. What he hadn't told him was how bloody painful it would be for her. He hadn't told harry how she would scream and thrash and fight through every ill-begotten memory, how she would vomit and retch until the only thing left to come up was her own blood, how she wouldn't be able to control any of her bodily functions, how her skin would flush with a fever so high that Harry worried she might overheat and die. What Draco absolutely did not fucking tell him was how bloody difficult this would all be on him.

Harry had just changed her for what felt like the tenth time since her withdrawals began. The soiled dressing gown and sheets were wadded up in a white wicker basket on the floor beside a small pile of damp washcloths. He hadn't left her side since her delirium began. As painful as it was, he couldn't allow himself to walk away. He'd already left her in an hour of need once before, and look what happened. Instead, he transfigured a rattan chair in the corner into an armchair and stayed dutifully by her side, cleaning her when needed, putting washcloths on her skin to cool her body, and holding her wrists when she tried to physically harm herself or him. He fought though his own tears and spoke soft promises of making the pain go away. It was only seventy-two hours. Seventy-two bloody hours would be nothing—a knut in a bucket in comparison to the rest of her life. Because that's what she had to look forward to once this was done: a new start, a fresh beginning for a friend he never should have walked away from.

Laying his head down on the mattress beside her shoulder, Harry's thumb gingerly stroked across the knuckles of her hand, trying his best to sooth her as a plaintive whimper slipped from her parted lips. "It's okay, 'Mione. I'm here… I've got you," he whispered, emerald eyes watching as her face twisted with fear in her sleep. "It's going to be okay."

The soft squeak of the bedroom door opening behind him caused Harry to lift his head off the twin sized mattress. His spine straightened as he looked over his shoulder toward Draco. "You need help?" Harry questioned as he slipped his hand from Hermione's and began to get out of the transfigured armchair.

"I got it," Draco replied as he moved to the opposite side of the bed from Harry. He had been in the kitchen gathering some supplies to help Hermione. Since the beginning of her detox, he had played nursemaid to the witch, administering potions when he could get her to keep them down, bringing Harry towels and soapy water when he needed to bath her. He'd even figured out how to use the Muggle washer that sat under the cabinet in the kitchen so that a fresh supply of sheets and blankets were available. He hadn't pressed Harry about his intentions with Hermione despite the fact the question was at the forefront of his mind. Instead, he remained a silent companion, spending most of his time in the living room with a good book and an open ear—waiting for the first sign of when his help would be needed.

Laying the white porcelain bowl down on the nightstand, Draco pushed up the sleeves of his black henley. The knit fabric bunched at his elbows, exposing the toned arms that lay beneath—and also the remnants of what he considered to be the worst time in his life. The Dark Mark was no longer as striking as it had been when Voldemort was alive. Instead of inky black, it now looked almost charcoal gray, dark but cloudy. The magical properties that linked it to the infamous dark wizard faded on that fateful day in 1998, but his link to that sociopath would never be severed. Not while the brand was still on his arm.

Draco's right hand dove into the basin, and he withdrew a crimson coloured flannel. He carefully rung out the excess liquid from the fabric before he turned towards the bed. He folded the square flannel in half, nimble fingers smoothing out the rough fabric before he leaned across the mattress and laid the damp cloth across Hermione's forehead. "You look like shit, Potter," he remarked, grey eyes giving only a quick glance to the sleep deprived wizard before he turned to withdraw another flannel from the bowl. "You really ought to go lay down and try to get some rest. I can take over for a while."

"No… thanks though."

When no further explanation was given, Draco simply shrugged his shoulders and returned to his silent job of placing the water-soaked flannels across her body. He lined her legs and thighs before tucking a thin sheet over her body. Her arms were wiped down, but he knew by now not to leave any flannels on them; her hallucinations were worse when he did.

Pulling his wand from the back pocket of his denim jeans, Draco cast a stasis charm on the porcelain bowl of water to keep it at the optimal temperature before he cast a diagnostic charm on Hermione. The tip of his hawthorn wand ran from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, blanketing her in a shimmering pale blue light that sunk into her body. The magic swirled just underneath her skin, illuminating her features with a beautiful glow. As the magic worked its way through her body, Draco's eyes stayed glued to the witch, making sure not to miss any subtle warning indicators that the spell would give if Hermione was worse off than he assumed. When the magical glow faded and nothing beyond an indication of her fever came up, he let out a soft sigh in relief.

Her detox had been hard, much harder than he ever assumed. He knew she was bad off; the pictures and stories he amassed in his file clearly told that tale, but his estimates on how much drug and alcohol abuse she had grown accustomed to was clearly off. Her body was in shock—the worst he had ever seen—revolting from the lack of opioid and alcohol consumption. It was as if, on a chemical level, her body had forgotten how to function without the drugs or liquor coursing through her blood, numbing her senses. She was as dependent as one could become, and this type of detox was incredible risky. If they weren't careful, they could actually make her quite ill. Had he known how dependent she truly was, he might have had a mediwitch on call, but by the time that he had realised his error, it was already too late. She had peaked. The worst of her withdrawal was behind her, and each minute that ticked by meant she was one step closer to waking up without the haze of drug or drink in her system.

"What did it say?" Harry's voice did little to hide the concern he held.

"She's through the worst of it," Draco said unceremoniously as he slipped his wand back into his pocket. "Just a fever and some mild dehydration. In a couple hours, I'll try to wake her to see if she can get any more of that hydration multiplying elixir down, but she'll still be queasy for a bit. Not to mention that tomorrow the migraine will start, but it shouldn't be too bad with the hydration elixir and pain potion we've been alternating. "

"How do you know that?" Harry's head cocked to the side, watching as Draco adjusted a couple of the flannels that shifted on Hermione's legs before he tugged the blanket higher up her body, carefully tucking her under the comforter like one would a small child.

Draco glanced over his shoulder to the other wizard, giving him a pointed look before turning his attention back to Hermione, who had begun to stir in her slumber. "You saw me cast a spell, Potter. I know you have little need to use magic anymore considering your celebrity status, but surely you mustn't have forgotten how it works."

A disgruntled noise emanated from the back of Harry's throat before he could prevent it. Of course he bloody knew Malfoy used a diagnostic charm. He'd seen it cast his fair share of times while under the care of Madam Pomfrey, but he also knew for a fact the charm was only diagnosing issues rather than prognosing. Leaning back in the transfigured chair, Harry crossed his arms over his chest, his lips thinning, unamused as he watched Draco adjust the bedding around Hermione to his liking. "I'm not a moron, Malfoy. I know what bloody spell you used, and it would absolutely not tell you upcoming symptoms for what's going on."

"This is my job, Potter. Of course I would know a little about what I'm doing,"

"From firsthand experience?"

"Obviously… she's far from the first drug addict or alcoholic I've treated."

"I meant yourself," Harry deadpanned. "I know you didn't just run off to America for no reason… especially after what we had started between us."

He was done with this delicate dance that he and Draco had developed over the past three days of helping Hermione. The tension between them was thick, almost visible. When Harry had tried to bring it up, Draco simply brushed off the topic or left the room. Between his worry about Hermione and lack of sleep, he hadn't had time to confront Draco about it. But now Harry was clearly done pretending like there wasn't something there. Even now, every time the blond wizard set foot in the same room as him, he could feel that delicious tingle of magic he'd felt so long ago thrumming at his heart, setting his skin on fire.

Draco gulped, his tongue sliding across his teeth behind his lips as he resisted the urge to tell the boy-wonder behind him to mind his own fucking business. This wasn't about him and his demons. This was about her. It was a bloody job! He released a long-suffering sigh in an attempt to calm his tongue before he turned to face Harry. Leaning back against the nightstand and sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he crossed his legs at the ankle. "Let's start off by clarifying some things, shall we? First, we just shagged. It was nothing—"

"It went on for nearly six months," Harry interrupted. "It was clearly not 'nothing.'"

Draco lifted a thin flaxen brow in irritation, and when Harry swept a hand towards him in a silent command for him to continue, his eyes rolled skyward. "Perhaps nothing was the wrong adjective, but regardless, it was _just shagging_ , Harry. I didn't wine and dine you, and you certainly didn't dare meet me anywhere we could be caught. We met in seedy hotels and fucked each other until the pain of our reality faded away. Truly, it was no bloody different than what she did, with the exception that sex is only slightly less addicting."

He watched as Harry's spine straightened, his words clearly getting under the wizards skin. Pulling his hand from his pocket, Draco lifted it to silence Harry before he took them down a path he was neither prepared nor willing to go down this very moment. Now was not the time to get into the fuzzy details about what he and Harry shared nearly ten years ago. Could he feel the magic between them, vibrating his occlumency shields, begging to be let in? Abso-bloody-lutely he could. The way it licked at his soul was intoxicating, begging to ease the wounds that ran like deep chasms in his heart. If he felt this way with his walls up, he could only imagine what Harry was feeling. Whatever it was that drew them together was rearing its ugly head and demanding they find each other once more, but he wasn't willing to explore that any further. He was here to do a job: fix Granger and get the fuck out of England. But more importantly, he wasn't ready to open his heart. He had kept it guarded for so long; the idea of finally allowing someone in seemed more frightening than facing the snake-like man who plagued his dreams to this day. He brought his attention back to Harry's question.

"Secondly, my expertise in detoxification is due to work with my clients. I am the best in the business for a bloody reason. I take jobs no one else will, and I make sure by the time I leave the client will never think about picking up a damn bottle or pill again. Do not question my talents, Potter. Some of us have to work to gain skill, unlike others who are born into it with a bloody scar on their head." Despite the harsh words, he kept his tone soft, choosing to keep the fire he felt from his voice. "However, to answer your fucking question, yes I have been in the same position as Granger, except I did it alone in some bloody yankee motel in a part of town that would make Knockturn Alley look warm and fuzzy. So yes, I bloody well know what I'm talking about."

Harry sat frozen, his teeth biting painfully on the inside of his cheek as his emerald eyes flickered away from Draco to stare at his socked feet, desperate to avoid the piercing gaze of the wizard before him. He knew Draco had had a drinking problem when they were sleeping together. It had been fairly difficult to avoid noticing the bottles that littered the hotel rooms they shared or the way his tongue always tasted of that smokey amber liquor—the same one that he to this very day would drink on lonely nights, using it to remind himself that not every aspect of his life post-war had been so carefully planned and executed. "I… Is that why you ran?"

Draco let out a sharp laugh, his hands lifting from his pockets to smooth back the fallen blond fringe. "No, I didn't leave England because I had a bloody addiction problem."

"Was it me?"

"Not everything is about you, Scarhead." Draco sneered, falling back on the oldest insult he had for the wizard.

"Then why the hell did you go?" Harry lifted his head, emerald eyes finding Draco's once more.

Draco shrugged, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he internally debated his answer. There had been many reasons for him to leave the country, but how does one begin to explain something that had happened nearly ten years ago? How does one begin to explain how the war his family helped cause–the same one that helped catapult Potter further into fame and fortune and that had took so many lives and ruined so many who were still standing once the dust had settled–had been his own undoing? "I had no reason to stay. England didn't want me, and I certainly did not want her."

"So what happened?"

"In America?"

Harry nodded before leaning forward to lace his fingers together, resting the side of his face against his hands as he looked at Draco curiously. "What got so bad?"

"Life… everything. Potter, I know this might surprise you, but my life wasn't exactly bloody roses and sunshine since the war. I am the child of a known murderer and Voldemort supporter. My father was one of the first to receive the Dementor's Kiss. My mother narrowly got off, and mainly thanks to that little stunt she pulled at the end–partially with your help. But you do realise that she did not save you because she felt some sort of change of heart, right? She lied to Voldemort because of me–she risked her life because she was so bloody concerned about me." Draco pushed off the nightstand, his hands smoothing over the back of his neck as he began to pace the length of the bed, his bare feet padding softly against the cold wood flooring.

"Mother's love and all that utter nonsense. But it doesn't matter, because she still supported him. She allowed him in our home and stood by my father when he… when he chose to follow Voldemort a second time. They pushed me to join his ranks, to take the Mark, to follow in the proud family footsteps of my ancestors. I–I just wanted to make them happy. I don't know if I ever believed that blood purity propaganda, but I just wanted to make them proud. But you lived. You stopped him, and everything I thought I knew about my fucking life was upended within weeks."

"The Manor was seized and destroyed. My father as good as dead. My mother a wreck. And to top it off I was shagging you–the same boy who kept coming into my life and fucking it up since I was eleven years old. I needed to leave. I needed to start over someplace no one knew my name or my story, somewhere no one gave a shit about my past because they were all too focused on their own problems. So America seemed like a reasonable place. Moving wasn't easy; Mother was livid, but I couldn't stay. When I got there, it didn't seem so bad. New York City was busier than what I was used to, but it wasn't home. I didn't have to see all the bloody people I hurt on a daily basis, so it was a nice change. For a while it was okay… I was okay."

"But then I wasn't. I was alone in a country where most of the people only talked to me because they liked my accent and had something called a bucket list and wanted to shag a British bloke. Which, for the record, I don't bloody understand, but it worked to my benefit. I had my drinks bought, drugs were given to me, and I was able to forget about all my other bloody problems because no one over there knew my fucking name. One witch told me she liked my tattoo one night. A fucking _tattoo_ —like I walked into one of those parlors and picked it off the bloody wall," Draco ranted, his head tipping back, grey eyes transfixed on the ceiling. He didn't understand why he was even telling him all this. It wasn't like he particularly cared what Potter thought of it all, but there was something compelling him to spill his secrets. Something compelling him to tell Harry everything that happened, to bring the wizard closer than he'd allowed anyone else to get since leaving Hogwarts.

"So I enjoyed it for a couple years. The anonymity. The drinks. The drugs. But one day I woke up and realised I wasn't in the same place I was when I took that Portkey. I was worse. I couldn't go five hours without a drink or the shaking would start. And Merlin forbid if I had to choose between eating or drinking because I would have picked the bottle every bloody time. I couldn't live like that—not anymore. I'd already allowed someone else to make my choices for too long; I would be damned if I was going to let my addiction do the same. I checked into a motel and spent the last of my money on a week's rent and got clean. It was… it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. No pain potions, no hydration elixirs, and certainly no calming draughts."

"It was bloody stupid, as well. So when I decided to make a business of it, I looked into the proper way. Consulted with Healers and Muggle physicians. I got a plan together, and well, as they say, the rest is history." Draco shrugged, pausing at the foot of the bed dropping his hands, sliding them back into the pockets of his jeans as he turned his attention back to Harry.

Harry remained silent, his mouth slightly agape as he looked at Malfoy with raised brows. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard him say so much at one time. Even over the course of their six month relationship—shag fest, whatever the hell Malfoy wanted to call it—he had not said more than dirty words in the bedroom and the location of their next meet up. Harry opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it again, unsure of what he could even say to the wizard at this point. An apology wasn't appropriate. He hadn't done anything wrong aside from being the unlucky recipient of a nasty scar on his forehead when he was one, and he was not going to bloody apologize for something he had zero control over. "Malfoy… Draco I don—"

"Don't, okay? Just don't say anything. I'm not even sure why I told you that shite," Draco interrupted quickly, a slow burn of a pink blush creeping on his cheeks as he crossed the room towards the medicine kit he had set up on the dresser. With his back to Harry, he busied himself with finding the potions he planned on giving Hermione. "Just forget it okay?"

"I—Okay…"

With three small vials secure in his hands, Draco returned to the nightstand where the porcelain bowl sat, and he laid them down one by one. "I'm going to infuse these in her bloodstream… since she can't keep anything down. She'll be asleep for the next seven hours or so. You really ought to go get some rest if you want to help her tomorrow morning when she finally wakes up, or you'll be useless to both her and me."

Harry shook his head despite the yawn he was currently covering with the back of his hand, large green eyes struggling to stay open through the process. "But what if she needs help. You said she's got a fever and—"

"I'll stay in here tonight if it means you'll actually go rest." Draco sighed. He pulled his wand from his pocket before he tucked it carefully behind his ear before moving to uncap the shimmering red pain potion vial. "Merlin, are all Gryffindors so bloody noble, or is that just reserved for a special kind of lion?"

Harry huffed. He knew Malfoy was right; he _was_ exhausted, and if what he said was true, Hermione would be coherent tomorrow, and he needed to be there for her. He also needed to apologize to her. He owed her more than a million sorrys. He owed her a lifetime of making up for how neglectful he had been for the past decade. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm bloody sure. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have offered." Draco glanced up from the potion vial in his fingertips to narrow his eyes at the wizard, his lips thinning.

"Okay… okay. Fine, I'll leave." Rising from the transfigured chair, Harry leaned across the bed, careful to not nudge or bump Hermione as he pressed a soft kiss against her cheek before whispering goodnight. With one final once, Harry made his way out of the room. Despite his exhaustion his mind swirled like a maelstrom, trying to process everything Draco had told him and deal with the fact that the tingle of magic he was experiencing with Draco felt frightening similar to the way his body thumped with magic when he and Hermione kissed.

* * *

Draco sat quietly beside Hermione, gray eyes watching her fingers twitch in her sleep. He had administered the potions nearly four hours ago, and while the dreamless sleep would allow her body to relax and rest as much as possible, it was obvious it did not completely eliminate whatever terrors haunted her. When a soft whine left the back of her throat, filling the silent room, Draco reached out to lay his hand on top of hers before he could second guess the impulse.

Almost immediately, the contact jolted him, like a spark of static electricity. Draco jumped, but didn't dare move his hand from hers. Grey eyes went wide with shock as he stared at where their hands touched, and just as suddenly as the spark hit, a radiating warmth spread from his fingertips up his arm. The slow burn of magic sunk its winding tendrils in the center of his chest where his heart lay. This was so different than what he'd felt before, what he'd experienced with Harry. It was slow and steady, where the spark from Harry felt fast and heady. His thumb stroked against the top of her wrist, silently thrilling in the way it caused this expanding warmth to lap at his own magic like a slow-burning fire. The flames built inside of him. There was something odd about this particular magic, for it calmed him. His free hand lifted from his lap, and he scooted closer to the bed until he was perched on the edge of the chair arm. His hands enveloped one of Hermione's, his fingertips resting lightly against the pulse point in her wrist. It was then he noticed that the beat of her heart matched his own in a slow and steady rhythm: like a bass drum, the percussion like a forbidden song.

Draco's eyes lifted away from her hand and up to her face, where he noted that instead of the worried whimper he heard moments ago, Hermione was now only breathing soft sighs of contentment. The worry lines etched into her face were gone, and in this moment, she looked peaceful. He didn't understand why or what this meant, but the part of his soul that enjoyed the relaxing warmth created by this simple touch seemed curious to explore the possibilities. This, of course, was the same part that had pushed him into inviting Harry to bed those many years ago. The part of him that was telling him to give into the obvious attraction he still held for the wizard.

He sat like that for several minutes, gently stroking Hermione's wrist with his thumb, his hands not daring to let go of hers and cut off the strange new magic that coursed between them. As he watched her sleep, he could not help but notice how similar their lives had ended up: both lost in the mess of a new world that had moved on without them, unprepared to deal with the pain that the war had left. It was more clear now than ever that blood status did not mean a thing. It was a bloody joke—this idea that one's blood was better than another's due to parentage. They had both ended up in the same position: broken. Abused. Desperate to numb themselves from the outside world.

As he sat there, stroking her wrist, he realised that this feeling building inside him was not as foreign as he originally thought. For, as his mind wandered with thoughts of how far they had come from their rocky beginnings at Hogwarts, he was reminded of the same warm sensation rippling across his soul and mixing into his magic. This intoxicating heat. No drink could ever begin to hold a candle to the way it made him feel. It had been apart of his life for so many of those years in that drafty castle that he had not even realised how fucking empty he felt until it was gone.

But why was it back after all these years? Why could he feel it again when he was touching _her?_ They were far from Scotland, so his original assumption that it had been the school was clearly wrong, and to his knowledge, the only thing magical in this vicinity was the three of them. He had specifically requested Potter book a Muggle cottage so he did not have to deal with the press. Hermione and Harry were two thirds of the most famous wizarding trio alive. If word got out they were bunking with a reformed Death Eater… well, this would not be good for either of their careers—even if Hermione's was already in the gutter.

With knowing they were the only wizards in the vicinity, it could only mean this radiating warmth in his chest that threatened to overwhelm him could only be caused by the two other inhabitants of this cottage—Potter and Granger. But before he could even begin to tackle that three-headed beast of a problem, he abruptly pushed away the thought. There was no bloody way this feeling could be caused by _them_. They were far from rivals, as they had been in their youth, but he wouldn't consider what they had a friendship. Draco simply didn't do friends anymore. Not since sixth year. Friends were trouble—getting that close to any one person wasn't worth the pain of losing them when they perished in a fire or they were slain by a mad-man.

The sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed three times, letting him know how early in the morning it was, and Draco released Hermione's hand and returned it to lay on the mattress with gentle care. He needed sleep as well, but more importantly, he needed to keep his distance from both Potter and her. Merlin forbid this strange magic actually complicate what he was trying to do here. Scooting the transfigured armchair back from the bed, Draco extinguished the light in the room before settling back into the cushion , his feet lifting to rest on the mattress near hers. Pulling the throw blanket over his body, Draco finally let his heavy eyelids shut, taking a small amount of comfort from the way her feet brushed against his, as if she were seeking the magical pull that had calmed her from her terrors only moments ago. With one final yawn, Draco closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the magic settle into his soul, ushering him into a peaceful sleep for the first time in nearly ten years.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Beta: Rivenslight | Alpha: Disenchantedglow

Thank you all for your lovely reviews, they help keep the muse well fed. I can't wait for you all to see how this story unfolds! Come follow me on Tumblr ms-merlinblack to stay up to date on all my ongoing stories. xoxo


	6. Day Break

When the morning light broke through the sheer curtains, Hermione finally woke from what felt like eternal slumber. Though her head no longer pounded in agony, her body ached. Her legs and arms felt heavy with exhaustion despite just waking up, but that ache paled in comparison to the sharp burn that her abdomen held, as if she had done thousands of crunches or taken repeated blows to the belly. The ache of muscle fatigue reminded her of being back on the run: unpleasant, never ending.

One at a time, she slowly opened her eyes, fearful the morning light would induce the sharp stab of the headache she normally felt upon first waking, but it never came. Turning her head on the soft pillow, Hermione looked around the room, cautiously taking in the unfamiliar space. For a moment, she forgot where she was and what had happened, but as she made her canvass of the room, her eyes fell on the sleeping form of her oldest friend, and the need to figure out how she got there vanished.

Harry was slumped forward in a silly looking chair, his torso draped across the bed, and his right hand curled loosely around her left hand. Brown eyes widened, staring at the intimate gesture as her fingers flexed in his hand, the impulse to lace them in his only stopped by a dark memory in the back of her mind that reminded her that Harry was no longer the same boy she once knew. She loved him—as she always would—but she also loathed him. He left her. He had been too busy for nine years. Nine bloody years!

It was only when the intense feelings of her past ten years began to bubble in her chest, did the memories of the past seventy-two hours flood back to her like a stampeding erumpent. Fast and hard with no mercy. Memories of the fever, the retching, the consuming pain that had made every tiny part of her body scream in agony and—worse—the way she begged for death all returned. She could vividly recall crying out and begging for whoever was in the room to end her life, wishing for the strength to do it on her own just so the feeling might stop. Had it been Harry who sat by her bed, stroking her hair, whispering soft words in an attempt to sooth her torment? Had it been Harry who rubbed her back as she retched until blood spilled past her lips? If it had been, how could he ever look at her the same? How could he sit by and hold her hand while she slept? As if he were some sort of devoted friend. She hadn't been around Harry in years, yet suddenly he was here demanding the world from her.

Hermione slowly pulled her hand from Harry's, careful not to wake him as she pushed herself up to sit in the bed. "Oh fuck," she hissed loudly, wincing as the burning in her abs turned into a sharp, stabbing pain and stopped her in her tracks. Brown eyes flickered to Harry, who shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding across the floral quilt until his fingers brushed against her thigh. Biting her bottom lip to prevent herself from crying out again, Hermione pushed herself up and swung her legs out from under the covers. She scooted to the edge of the bed and tested the strength of her legs, wanting to make sure she could hold her own weight and not end up collapsing on the floor.

Bare feet padded lightly against the cold wooden planks as she edged around the bed, warily watching Harry sleep and praying he would not wake while she was fleeing her bed. As she crossed the room, she saw a thick, white cotton robe draped across the dresser by the closet door, and she pulled on the oversized housecoat, the hem hitting her ankles, and she had to roll up the sleeves several times before her hands were visible. It was far from a perfect fit, but it would hide the thin pair of boxers and white tank top in which she found herself from any wandering eyes.

She moved from the bedroom, careful to keep her footfall light as she crept past Harry. She wasn't ready to face him yet. She wasn't ready to face anything, truthfully. For the first time in what felt like years, she could finally see the world without the numbing haze of drug or drink. Everything appeared sharper than before, like she'd finally donned a pair of glasses after a lifetime of struggling to see clearly. She could make out the tarnish around the brass doorknobs and the way the morning sunlight cast rainbow prisms through the glass on the hallway walls. She could feel the grain of the wood beneath her bare feet, and as her fingertips brushed around the inside hem of the housecoat, the soft cotton reminded her of sheep's skin: supple, eternally soft, and comfortable.

But on the opposite spectrum from this newfound wonderland of crystal clear senses was Hermione's realization of the crippling emotional impact sobriety had thrust upon her. She no longer had any means to numb her problems. She knew that any conversation with Harry would result in much deeper anguish than she was prepared to deal with. Everything still felt too raw, even after all these years. She wasn't even sure what he expected of her at this point. did he want her to thank him for caring enough to come back after nine bloody years of silence, like some white knight on his horse to rescue her? She'd never _asked_ for help. She'd never _needed_ rescuing. No, what she needed was for Harry to stop acting like he was doing her a bloody favor and let her get back to the life she had grown accustomed to.

Hermione was so lost in absorbing the new sensations of life not under the influence that she didn't even notice Malfoy sitting in the armchair as she walked into the living room. She was halfway through, eyes lingering on the floral paintings that lined the walls when his crisp voice pulled her back to reality.

"You're finally up." Draco had not even bothered to lift his eyes from the daily copy of _The Wizard's Voice_ as he spoke to her. His hair was already meticulously coiffed, not a single strand out of place, and he was dressed for the day in a pair of dark wash slim cut jeans, a pair of brown boots, and a forest green jumper that Hermione would be remiss to ignore and which did wonders for his pale complexion. She could not help but feel more than a little unnerved by his casual appearance. She had spent years growing up alongside him, and as a boy, he had clung to a jarring professionalism uncanny for a boy his age and wore suits nearly exclusively from third year on. How had he transitioned from wearing something so formal to something so casual? Worse yet was the fact that even now, dressed down in something one might consider Muggle attire, he still appeared arrogant—like the world was his for the taking should he so choose.

Draco took his time, finishing reading the article about his client—Celestra Topps—and how her latest single was considered to be her best yet. Celestra had been one of his first, saving her career after a nasty divorce from a man many considered American Royalty even though the bloody titles didn't exist. He had pulled the middle-aged witch back from the brink of self-destruction and turned her failing singing career into a multi-million Dragot empire. And even though his job with her was long complete, he always felt the need to keep tabs on her just in case warning signs began to appear.

Folding the paper in half, Draco uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to set the paper on the worn coffee table before he picked up his cup of tea by the saucer. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Hermione's tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips as she watched him settle back into the chair, his long legs crossing at the knee as he sipped idly on his tea like everything was right in the world. The impulse to cross the room and upend the cup on his head grew stronger with each tick of the second hand from the grandfather clock beside her. "How am I feeling?"

Draco pulled the teacup from his lips, the smoky flavor from his Earl Grey lingering on his tongue as he set the saucer in his lap. His head cocked to the side, grey eyes examining the way her skin glistened in the light of the room. She looked healthier than before. Thin, yes, but the death-like blue undertones she held three days prior were gone. "Clearly your comprehension skills have not returned." Draco sighed. "I hope the damage isn't lasting—I've always liked to verbally spare with a well-educated opponent."

"I understood you perfectly fine," Hermione replied quickly, her cheeks flaming crimson. "I was just shocked you would bother to ask how I felt. That's all."

The corner of Draco's mouth pulled up in a playful smirk, and he lifted his brows at the witch. "I'm an arsehole, Granger, not inhuman. Seeing as you've been unwell for three days, I think I am well within my rights to inquire about your physical state, especially considering I've helped Potter clean up your sick on more than one occasion."

"I—you—" Hermione stammered over her words, her blush deepening as she pulled her eyes away from his to look at her unpainted toes as shame washed over her. He had helped take care of her? Why the bloody hell would he do that!? He hated her. He—he should have turned down the bloody job! He should have left her alone. "I didn't ask for your bloody help!"

"You wouldn't have been able to ask, even if you wanted to," Draco responded plainly, "Someone else had to do it for you."

His response was simple, succinct, and straight to the fucking point. It left no room for to her argue despite her need to defend what little honour she still held. She knew her life was shit, and deep down she knew there _was_ a problem. But it was her problem, no one else's, and certainly not Malfoy's and Harry's. Her nostrils flared in silent contempt as she bit the inside her bottom lip to keep from lashing out at him again.

"Stop arguing, Granger. It's too early, and quite frankly, I have not ingested enough caffeine to deal with the conundrum that is your psyche." Draco sighed, gesturing to the open couch on his left. When the upset witch finally relented and moved to sit down he pulled his wand from where it lay nestled between his thigh and the armchair. He lifted it towards the kitchen and muttered a soft enchantment. Behind him, a blue floral teacup and saucer floated leisurely toward the sitting area, followed closely by a plain white teapot and matching cream and sugar containers.

The teapot and its accoutrements found a home in the middle of the coffee table, staging itself perfectly in front of Hermione while the teacup and saucer lingered in the air in front of her as if waiting to be taken before the magic that brought them to life would disappear. With an exasperated sigh, Hermione leaned forward and plucked the saucer from the air before she set it on the table a little more forcefully than intended. Seeing him use his wand made her realise that hers was noticeably missing. A creeping unease worked its way up her spine at the realization. Since acquiring her new wand—a twelve inch applewood with a dragon heartstring core that Ollivander personally crafted for her after the war—it rarely left her side. She had experienced what it felt like to lose her wand once before and had no plans of revisiting that time in her life in the future. Normally, she kept it on her nightstand or tucked under her pillow, but she simply couldn't remember setting it down—in fact, she couldn't remember even having her wand before all this mess started. "Malfoy, where is my—"

"Locked away in my trunk." Draco didn't even have to wait for her finish her question. He knew it was coming; how could it not? Not having one's wand felt like losing a hand, and Merlin forbid that you had to use someone else's. His own experience using his mother's was less than thrilling. His magic had felt stifled, like he couldn't use the full force of it to his advantage. But removing her ability to use magic was a necessary part of her treatment, at least while they were in the beginning stages of healing.

" _What_?" Hermione's voice ticked up an octave with her question, eyes flashing violently at the blond wizard.

Draco's head cocked to the side as he studied Hermione, watching the flicker of flames burn behind her eyes. It was a mere glimpse of the witch he used to know. She had been so full of passion as a girl; her desire to right all the wrong in the world was part of the insufferable personality trait many loved and hated about her. She was the embodiment of what pure-bloods hated—the embodiment of what his family told him to despise. But she had fallen so bloody far. Those pictures he had in the file barely looked like the same girl he had known. She had grown, yet she obviously still had much to learn. "Don't worry, Granger. It's quite safe. You'll get it back soon enough."

"Soon enough?" Hermione scoffed in disbelief. Her brow furrowed in anger and she leaned forward, perched on the edge of the couch now, her body tensed like a wounded panther ready to pounce at any moment. "This isn't a bloody _joke_ , Malfoy. I want my fucking wand. _Now!"_

"I'm sorry; I never implied I thought this was a joke. Did you think it was?" Draco slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to set his teacup down before steepling his fingers together under his chin.

"I've been paid—quite handsomely, mind you—to help you detox, Hermione. And once that job is done, we have to move onto much harder aspects of your recovery like repairing your public image and securing you gainful employment that doesn't involve sucking cock for a few pills. This is far from a joke, Granger. You will find no one in this cabin is laughing at the thought of dedicating the next several weeks to living life far from our creature comforts just so you can have a chance at life once more."

Hermione jaw worked like she held a mouthful of tacks as his words sunk in.

"I didn't hire you," Hermione snapped, nostrils flaring. " _I_ never asked for this. _I_ don't bloody want this. What _I_ want is for you to give me my fucking wand and remove the wards from this cottage so I can go back to my bloody life in London. Far away from you."

"What you want and what you need are two very distinct things."

"What do I bloody _need_ then?" Hermione challenged, a thin brow lifting. "Since you think you know me so fucking well." She sat silently, watching as Draco took his time assessing her with a morbid curiosity, like she was some sort of challenge or puzzle he had yet to figure out.

"You need to start over. You _need_ to understand that you've relied on outside influences for far too long. You came into the magical world at eleven and immediately found yourself a sidekick to an adolescent with a death wish. You fostered your magical talent out of necessity, not practicality. You used to be a gifted witch with so much promise. 'Brightest of her age' or some drivel like that, but take a moment to think about how much promise you hold now. Magic has not done good things for you, Granger. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's brought you pain. Knowing this—and that it is a requirement in my program—you are no longer using magic until you are released back to London.

"You've relied on your magic, drugs, and drink for far too long. You _need_ to remember 'Muggle Hermione,' the annoying little shit of a girl whose eyes would light up when she would swish her wand and make a feather float. The same girl who corrected everyone in the bloody classroom, including the professor, because she'd read the textbook front to back. You need to find that passion again, and only then can you begin to relearn 'Magic Hermione.'"

"They aren't two different people living inside me," Hermione snapped, arms crossing over her bust. "I'm one bloody person who would very much like her wand and freedom back. These two 'Hermiones' you talk about are both me!"

"Clearly not, Granger," Draco replied crisply, his disbelief evident in his tone.

"I think I would bloody well know!" Hermione shouted, the air in the room suddenly snapping to life with an electrical current from her magic that threatened to spill over. It had been years since she had an episode of accidental magic, but the vulnerability of him holding onto her wand was clearly too much.

Draco sighed, his head shaking as his eyes rolled to meet the ceiling. "Bloody Gryffindors and their theatrics," he muttered under his breath before scooting to the edge of his chair, his attention turning to the teapot and her empty cup. Setting his own cup down, Draco carefully began to pour them each a steaming cup of the Earl Grey, taking his time to prepare his own to the exact way he liked it—splash of cream, three sugars—before he began to doctor up the witch's. It had been years since he'd shared a meal in the Great Hall with her, but the memory of her morning ritual was still ingrained in him after watching her, the Boy Wonder and King Weasel after all those years: generous cream, one sugar. He could clearly remember remarking to Crabbe and Goyal that it was like she drank tea flavored milk the first time he noticed.

"Enlighten me a bit, Granger," Draco began as he slowly slid the teacup across the coffee table towards her. "How was your life before Hogwarts?"

"What?"

"How was it?" Draco repeated, grey eyes finding brown once more, and his head cocked to the side. "Did you face danger every year in primary school? Did you sneak out of your house to go traipsing around whatever Muggle neighbourhood you grew up in instead of being tucked safely inside your bed? Did you fight for your life while still in nappies?"

"Don't be fucking absurd, of course not." Hermione looked down at the teacup sceptically. It wasn't that she didn't trust the offering of drink from him—he wouldn't very well harm her, not when so much linked her to him and Harry was in the back of the cottage. No,it was the way he prepared it. He didn't so much as bothered to ask how she took her tea , and even though it was prepared according to her preferences, it was the fact that he didn't bloody ask. Like she didn't have a choice in the matter. Reaching out, she pushed the teacup back into the center of the table stubbornly before cocking an eyebrow at him in defiance.

Draco Waved his hand at her as if physically batting away her frustration with him. It would do no good for her to sit there and argue with him when there was still so much to be done. Hermione needed to get past this first hurdle or else the rest of their stay in this cottage would be much longer than he had allotted for. With a small sigh, Draco shook his head before settling back in his chair, his elbows digging into the plush arms. "Just answer the question. How was your life before school?"

"It was—I don't bloody know; it was different. I didn't really have friends, not like at Hogwarts, but I wasn't lonely." Hermione began to explain, her hands sliding across the soft cotton robe on her thighs in a feeble attempt to wick away the sweat lining her palms. "I had my mum and dad. I went to primary school during the day and my parents' office after school before we would go home. It was—I don't know, uh… ordinary."

"So, not dangerous?" Draco confirmed.

"Of course not."

"And after you started at Hogwarts? How was your life then?"

"It was brilliant," Hermione responded plainly, despite the fact that the corners of her mouth pulled up in the tiniest bit of a smile. Memories of her time in the castle lingered at the forefront of her mind like a movie reel of what she would consider the best time in her life. A time when her Mum and Dad were still around, when Harry and Ron still lived with her, and when she was allowed to be whoever she wished.

"I have no doubt that it was marvelous. Walking into a world of magic after years of… well, being a Muggle, but what I am specifically looking for is how it was in comparison to your beginning. You just said it was ordinary. After going to Hogwarts, was your life still ordinary?" Draco pressed.

"You know the answer to that question, Malfoy. Stop beating around the bush."

"Then answer the question. How was your life after you started attending Hogwarts?"

Hermione let out a heavy sigh, lifting her hands in the air. "It was different! Is that what you wanted to hear?" she questioned. "It was still brilliant, but it was different. I had both friends and enemies for the first time! I was on my own, away from everything I knew, and a whole new world was open to me. For the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere. I had Harry and Ron. We had each other's backs, no matter what. We went through a lot as we grew up, yes—"

"Did you fear for your life?" Draco interrupted, lifting up his hand to silence her before she could continue rambling past the point he was trying to make.

"On occasion, yes." Hermione replied. "But again, what does this have to do with me having my wand?"

"Everything. The fact that you can't make the connection simply proves that you need this help—regardless of if you want it or not," Draco began, leaning forward in his chair so he could lean his elbows against his knees, clasped hands resting under his chin as he looked at her. "Granger, when you were introduced to magic, your entire bloody world changed. It wasn't just 'look at these neat little spells I can cast.' It was much more. Your friendships, your safety nets, every bloody thing in your life was uprooted. It's not like that for pure-bloods or even half-bloods. We grow up knowing magic, watching our parents use it from birth to make work around the house easy, or even using it to make us happy by animating an object. It was never a societal norm for you. You never got a slow introduction of magic. Instead, you got handed a wand and told this is how the world truly is."

"Are you really going to sit there and say this is all my fault because I'm muggleborn?!" Hermione snapped in disbelief, eyes wide. Surely he was past the blood prejudice at this point, wasn't he? He saw firsthand how that line of thinking could literally rip families apart.

"Oh, bloody hell." Draco sighed, pressing his index finger into the center of his forehead, eyes closing as he dug into the pressure point. "No, Granger. I am not saying you are any less capable of handling magic because of your parentage. I am simply trying to point out that while I had an integration of magic in my life from the very beginning, you were thrust into the world in the middle of your childhood and everything changed for you from that moment forward. I am saying it is no bloody wonder you turned to alcohol and Dragon's Breath to cope with the shit hand life dealt you."

"I've been dealing just fine, thank you very much," Hermione defended, "I've been in _this world_ for over eighteen years—which is over half my bloody life, I'd like to point out. Taking away my wand is going to have no bearing on this bullshit you're trying to pull. All you're doing is making me defenseless."

"Defenseless? Against who? Hermione, there is no bloody war going on."

Draco's use of her given name was jarring, a bucket of cold water on her psyche rendering her temporarily speechless. Her mouth opened and closed several time as her mind swirled to explain who she needed to defend herself from. There were no more Death Eaters—at least none who admitted to being so publically. The closest anyone got to the level of destruction that Voldemort had wreaked was within the world of wizarding politics. She had no more demons left to face anymore, with the exception of the one who appeared every time she looked in the mirror.

"Since you began using magic at eleven, bad things have happened to you, Hermione. You've fought for your life more times than most people ever face mortal danger. You were publically hunted. A price tag was literally on your head—dead or alive. You had to _Obliviate_ your parents, for fuck's sake. You cannot sit there and tell me that magic had zero negative impact on your life. You are subconsciously tying these negative memories to the use of magic—something you do every day. You are reliving your pain with each spell or enchantment, and I— _we_ —cannot just sit by and act like that isn't the case. "

Draco lifted his hand to smooth back his hair, grey eyes storming with his own repressed emotions. Even years after his own detox, it was hard to sit there and talk about the war so candidly. They had all faced unspeakable horrors then—even those who were under the "privilege" of working for Lord Voldemort. "If it makes it easier for you, _everyone_ in this cottage will refrain from using magic while you recover. However, this stipulation is non-negotiable."

Despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to sit there and scream and _demand_ her wand back, she could sense there was no arguing her way out of this. Malfoy had made up his mind—clearly—and was not going to back down. Harry had sided with the enemy, all in hopes of making her better. And as fucking noble as Harry's cause was, Hermione found it a bitter pill to swallow, because there was no saving her. He was nine bloody years and countless bottles too late.

"No, this is bloody stupid." Hermione pushed up from the couch, her knee knocking the coffee table and sending the tea sloshing over the rims of the cups as she moved to return to her room. She might be forced to stay in this house, but she would be damned if she was going to spend any more time with Malfoy than was necessary.

"It's rather inconvenient, I agree, but I think we will manage just fine," Draco called out to Hermione, watching as she moved briskly across the room towards the hallway, her bare feet thudding loudly on the wooden floor as she stormed off. "Oh, Granger, before you go," he called out, rising from the armchair and slipping his wand in his back pocket casually.

"What? What else do you fucking want?" Hermione looked over her shoulder, pausing with her hand on the archway into the hallway, brown eyes narrowing.

"You'll need to come put your teacup away. Remember, no magic." His voice took on almost a singsong quality as he gestured to the coffee table, snagging the tea pot and his own cup from the now dirty surface before turning his back on the witch, narrowly catching the two finger salute she sent his way. With his face finally hidden from Hermione's view, Draco allowed a satisfied smirk to wash over his features. For as much as the curly hair swot drove him insane as a boy, he found her defiant charm almost appealing in adulthood. Working with Hermione Granger over the next few weeks was going to be anything but boring.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

come follow me on twitter ms-merlinblack or drop me a line below and let me know what you think. until next week. xx


	7. Both

Hermione's physical health was touch and go for the first week and a half of her time in the cottage. Draco had stocked the shared bathroom with a large supply of pepper up, pain, and anti-nausea potions, but she struggled to take them on time, which resulted in many hours spent hugging a porcelain bowl while in her bed. Every aspect of her recovery felt like torture during that time. When she was taking all of the medicine Draco supplied for her, she felt numb. Not the same type of beautiful oblivion she had craved for so long and had managed to obtain with Dragon's Breath, but merely a numbing of her physical pain. Her mind was as sharp as it had been while attending school, and she was, unfortunately, acutely aware of the inner despair she had so desperately tried to bury under years of alcohol and drug abuse.

Years of repressed emotions hit her like a tsunami, fast and ruthless. There was no holding back the memories once they began. The loneliness. The shame. She wasn't worthless, but over the last nine years she had made herself that way. She allowed herself to succumb to the pressures of her new life. She had lost herself in the mix of fame and fortune and along the way had simply forgotten how to be _Hermione_.

As she tried to process the maelstrom of self-loathing and physical discomfort, Harry did his best to comfort her. He would crawl into bed and hold her as she cried until her body could not expel a single tear more. He would wake in the middle of the night when the night terrors returned in full force, causing her throat to go raw from screaming for relief from her demons.

It had been years since she'd had a nightmare; she had simply forgotten that they had ever been apart of her life. That had been one singular blessing of the vices she collected over the years—they allowed her to become so numb that even her dreams weren't plagued with reminders of the past.

Draco was ever present, but he kept his distance. Watching in the shadows, waiting patiently until his assistance was needed. He never pushed, nor judged. In retrospect, it should not have surprised Hermione because he was technically here to do a job, but his kindness was still startling. One night, it had been Draco by her side when she awoke from her night terror. Harry was running out of steam and desperately needed a good night's sleep, so when the demons called her home and pulled screams from her sleeping form, it was he that sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her sweat soaked curls from her face as she fought an invisible Bellatrix for the umpteenth time. And when she finally woke, tears streaming down her face and the scar on her neck throbbing as a painful reminder—as it always did when the recurring dream visited her—he knew just what to say and do to calm her down. He spoke in soft tones, rooting her back in reality. Reminding her that it was just a dream, and that her foe was long gone. Not an ounce of the evil witch remained in the physical realm, but her spirit was still as vivid as ever in Hermione's mind. Draco's hand that had been stroking her hair dropped to her shoulder, and tentatively his thumb stroked across the pink scar, soothing the ache that ran deep into her bones.

Even there, in her punch-drunk twilight state, Hermione felt a spark ignite between them. It didn't kick start her heart the way Harry's touch did. No, this was different. It was equally as exhilarating, but instead of riling her up it had the complete opposite effect. It soothed her wild and calmed the madness in her soul. His melodic tone and touch was the sedative needed to ease her back to sleep. The sensory memory of his hand on her skin and the soothing resonance reminded her of simpler times, like when her mother would wrap her in a warm blanket as a child on cold winter nights. The pressure of her mother's arms around her, combined with the glowing heat of the wrap fresh from the dryer provided a comfort she had tried to replicate in the years since she had lost her, but every attempt Hermione made paled in comparison to the way Malfoy's presence soothed her that night.

He had curled up on the bed next to her, keeping only a hand on her arm, letting her know he was there if the dreams tried to overwhelm her again. The next morning when the sunlight on their faces woke them up, Draco had thankfully followed her lead on not discussing what had happened between them, and they fell back into the routine of merely coexisting in the tiny cottage.

It had been several days since that confusing night, and although Draco did not repeat his night-time visit, the confusion she felt about his demeanor only grew. He wasn't the bully she grew up with. At times he was even… kind. He was supportive. Always willing to listen should she choose to talk to him.

While her body physically no longer craved alcohol or Dragon's Breath, the hunger to lose herself in a vice-induced bliss still felt as strong as it had been when she first woke up in the cottage. If given the opportunity, she would happily drown herself in a vat of wine or liquor. She would have gotten down on her knees for Charlie for just a single pill. Something to pull her mind away from the present and just enjoy the total numbness. Which, she suspected, is why Draco had yet to allow her to step foot outside the cottage.

Instead, her days were filled with reading the Muggle and magical books that lined the meager bookshelf, playing cards with Harry, or watching old films on tape that they had uncovered in a trunk in what had become Draco's bedroom. Without the use of magic from anyone in the house, it also meant the tasks of cooking and cleaning had to be done by hand—without the ease of spellwork.

Hermione had never been gifted in the kitchen, as Harry fondly pointed out one night when the chicken casserole she had spent hours working on came out of the oven blackened on top but ice cold in the middle. Neither wizard had been able to salvage the meal, and thankfully Draco had taken the initiative to take the rental car to the closest Muggle village to purchase dinner from a local pub.

Since that night, Harry always volunteered to help cook dinner when it was Hermione's turn. While he would never admit to her that he did it because he was afraid of the concoctions she would make, they all knew his offer to help was not simply because he enjoyed cooking.

The soft, crooning melody of a Frank Sinatra song crackled from the ancient radio on the window sill, serenading Harry and Hermione as they worked side by side in the kitchen. The cupboards and refrigerator were growing bare, and Draco offered to go collect groceries as he had some post to send to a client in the U.S. With the wizard gone, it was the first time she was left entirely alone with Harry since her visit to Grimmauld Place two weeks before. On a cutting board in front of her, a large pile of fresh green beans lay, and she picked up the vegetables one by one and snapped off the ends, preparing the simple vegetable as she had seen her mother do hundreds of times before.

"Harry?"

Harry was across the tiny kitchen sitting at the dining table, where he held a medieval-looking potato peeler in one hand and a poorly peeled potato in the other. He had nicked his knuckles on more than one occasion since Hermione assigned him to this task. He had forgotten how bloody tedious peeling potatoes by hand was, as it had been several years since his aunt and uncle forced him to make a Sunday dinner.

"Yeah?" Harry glanced over his shoulder.

Hermione looked back at her pile of green beans, making sure to avert her gaze from his so he couldn't see the hesitation so plainly written on her face. They hadn't really talked about what happened between them over the past nine years since this all started. How could they? They were always within earshot of Malfoy, and while his presence _was_ growing on her, she wasn't exactly keen on rehashing her abandonment issues with him around. So while he was absent, she figured she might as well seize the opportunity presented to her. "How have you been? What have you been up to… I mean aside from… well, this?"

Harry immediately looked back at the potato and peeler in his hand, his thumb stroking across the silver handle, trying to distract himself from how fucking terrible it felt for her to ask that. How had he been? Hermione was supposed to be his best friend. She was supposed to know exactly how he'd been because she should have been right by his side during the last ten years of newfound fame, but instead he got too bloody wrapped up in the whole rigmarole of turning his name and image into an internationally recognized icon—or whatever the bloody fuck Aurora called it. He couldn't very well remember half the time. He just showed up to the appointments she set and went about his life as best he could to stay afloat.

"Just work, I supposed. Not really much time for anything else," he began as he rolled the half peeled potato in his palm before dragging the metal peeler across its rough skin. "Ministry meetings, photoshoots, interviews… the same nonsense they've had me do since 1998."

"That's it?" Hermione pressed. Snapping the last of the green beans, she picked up the colander of prepared vegetables and moved to rinse them under the sink, casting only a fleeting glance in his direction as she passed by. "I mean, don't get me wrong. Work must be nice—I haven't been hired to do… well much of anything in ages. But, don't you get out and have fun?"

Harry snorted, unable to hide his amusement with her question. Having fun was a concept Harry hadn't thought about in ages. Sure, in his daily life aspects of his job were fun, but purposefully going out with the sole intent of leisure? No, that luxury was not one he had been afforded in a long time. "'Mione, I cannot remember the last time I did anything other than work," he admitted.

"Really?" Hermione asked, her brows lifting in surprise. "I guess I just assumed–you're all over the papers and magazines globe-trotting."

"Convenient photo opportunities. Aurora's always been keen to make me look far more interesting than I truly am." Harry tossed the peeled potato in the faded mixing bowl on the table before he set the peeler down and turned to look at Hermione at the sink. "I'm more of a homebody now–or rather, I'd prefer to be. I spent all that money to restore Grimmauld Place, and I barely get to use it. I'm just so tired of traveling and sitting in those Ministry meetings where I'm expected to just smile and backup Kings. Don't get me wrong, I love the bloke, and I'll do whatever I can to help but… how much am I really helping by just showing up?"

A slow smirk fell across Hermione's lips as she listened to Harry ramble about what had befallen his life since the war's end. As fucked up as her own time had been, it brought a small sense of ease knowing that despite the pretty pictures that graced the magazine covers, Harry was not enjoying his gallivanting around the globe like some playboy bachelor. He was still the same Harry. The same boy who dreamed of family and finding his place in a world that felt so foreign and wondrous—or at least she hoped that he was.

"Well, I suppose there is one silver lining to becoming a social pariah," Hermione teased as she turned off the sink and shook the colander so the excess water dripped off. "I don't have to deal with all that bullshit anymore." Tucking the bowl against her chest, she glanced over her shoulder to her friend with a playful smile, hoping it would be enough to let him know that while yes, the fact was that she was on the outskirts of what their society deemed as proper, she could still poke a bit of fun at her situation.

Harry's surprised laughter caught in his throat as he watched her move across the kitchen to the stovetop where the frying pan was already warming up with a bit oil for her dish. Reasonably, he knew what she said was true. Hermione did not have to deal with the job-related headaches he'd developed over the years. He knew her job assignments were dismally low, and recently Ron had begun to make it his life's mission to ensure she never found employment again. But it was a bitter pill to swallow when she spoke so candidly about it. It wasn't that people were just unwilling to employ her, it was that she had a problem—an addiction that made it really bloody difficult to have her back their brand or image.

"You're not a pariah, 'Mione," Harry tried to defend.

"No, Harry. I am. If you think otherwise, I don't think you understand what that word means."

"I wouldn't go as far as to use that term," Harry began as he rose from the table with the bowl of potatoes, and he moved to set it on the counter top in front of the spice rack. "You've just… taken a break from it all, and I'm here to help you find your way back," he explained as he seasoned the potatoes.

"That's one way of putting it," Hermione scoffed, glancing over her shoulder to Harry before back down to the pan in front of her. "Although I think that many would disagree. I'm not the same girl I was ten years ago. I've done things that even you—the great Harry Potter—would blush over."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Harry turned around, leaning back against the counter as he watched her work at the stove. Emerald eyes ran the length of her figure. She was still thin, but even now he could tell she was starting to put on much needed weight. Her hair looked less stringy than before, her curls returning to the wild luster that they had held in her youth, reminding him of better times, as well as the boyhood crush he had. "I'm not exactly innocent, contrary to what Aurora would have people believe."

A soft blush crept up the apples of her cheeks, and Hermione bit her bottom lip. That was a topic she was not entirely sure that were ready to broach—at least not yet. "Speaking of Aurora, what does the master manipulator think of you being here with Malfoy and me? If I remember the contract correctly, you're breaking more than one rule—at minimum. I'm sure there have been additions since I've faded out of the spotlight."

Harry's brow furrowed at her question, as he had not actually given much thought to what his agent would think of this since it had all happened so quickly. He'd known he needed to get his friend help; the rest hadn't really been important. "To be honest, I don't really care what she thinks," Harry explained as he pushed off the countertop and made his way towards her. "Nothing was as important as being here with you."

The pink blush crept down her neck at his words, the small fluttering in her belly returned, and she curled her fingers tighter around the wooden spoon she held. His declaration shouldn't induce these feelings—this adolescent beating of butterfly wings in her tummy or the way her heart skipped a beat. This was Harry, her former best friend. Sure, at a singular point in time she thought she might have feelings for him, but now was definitely not the time for her to forget just how pissed off she should still be with him. "Oh..." was all she could manage to reply before she cleared her throat to try to rid herself of the lump that had suddenly formed.

Lost in her thought, Hermione didn't notice Harry's approach from behind until she felt hands on her hips. She sharply inhaled as she felt his fingers curl around her hip bones, and even through the soft cotton material of her joggers, she could feel heat radiating from his skin and sinking into hers. "H-Harry?" Hermione squeaked in surprise, and when his thumbs slid beneath the hemline of her tank top, brushing across her skin, she felt the same wave of magic that she had the night they kissed. Except this time, there was nothing to dull its effects. No drink, no drug. She felt every ounce of its energy as it coursed through her veins, filling her soul. It felt just like the first time she held her vinewood wand in Ollivander's. Breathtaking, warm, and tingly. It felt like home. Like she had been missing something for her entire bloody life, and his touch reminded her what she needed most in the world.

Harry froze, his stuttering breath ghosting over the side of her neck as the electrical current of magic sparked between them. His fingertips ached to join his thumbs on her skin, desperate to see if the rest of her would feel the same. It was like he had just touched a ball of pure energy that kickstarted his heart into an unsteady rhythm. A sane man would turn and run, but Harry had never truly been sane, had he? He ran towards danger and the unknown, and this—whatever the fuck this was between them—was absolutely one of the most dangerous things he had ever encountered. Even unspoken, it promised to bring so much heartache and pain if they weren't careful.

"I… uh… I just need you to move over a bit," Harry whispered, gulping down his hesitation as he slowly guided her petite frame to the side, his hands still firmly planted on her hips, and he leaned in. His chest pushed against her back, and he was sure she could feel his heartbeat tattoo into her as he reached out with one hand to pluck a soft spatula from the utensil jar.

He didn't want to move; he wanted more than ever to press her up against the counter and steal her breath away in a kiss, but this consuming feeling between them was not going to be satisfied at a single kiss. He would want more, and with Draco returning to the cottage at any moment, he doubted it would be a good idea to give in to these feelings. He slowly took two steps back, separating their bodies, and the hand still left on her hip trailed across her skin. He watched her shiver at their departing contact, and inside his ego soared. If he could make her do that with just an innocent touch, he couldn't imagine what her reaction would be if he did ever get the chance to act upon these feelings.

"Thanks," he murmured before turning around to move back towards the bowl he was working on, his free hand moving up to twist the tips of his hair as he tried to clear his mind from his impulsive lust-filled haze.

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself quite yet to speak without squeaking. Her body ached at the loss of Harry's body heat, and the small voice in the back of her mind begged her to cross the room and return to his arms. Her eyes drifted closed, and she took a heavy breath, rooting herself back in the moment. It was nothing—this was nothing. Harry didn't want her, not like that. He'd just needed the spoon. That kiss they'd shared was a mistake. It was an accident—but dammit, she wanted to make a hundred more accidents with him if it meant she got to feel like this every bloody time. Pushing down the tidal wave of confusing feelings, Hermione cleared her throat as she pushed the sautéing green beans around the frying pan. "Thank you, by the way."

Harry glanced across the room to the witch as he stirred the potatoes around, making sure they were thoroughly coated before he dumped them onto a baking sheet. "For what?"

"For all of this… for still believing I could be saved from myself," Hermione elaborated before looking over her shoulder to him. Brown eyes twinkled in the artificial light of the kitchen as she smiled at him. "I've been meaning to say it but didn't really know the right way…so, thank you for everything. Even if you did hire Malfoy to help."

Draco made it back to the cottage just as dinner had finished cooking. Keeping true to his promise, he refrained from using magic to bring the grocery bags inside, and while Hermione set the table, he and Harry made quick work of putting his purchases away. The weekly shopping trip took a bit longer than usual, as he'd made a small detour on his way to the grocer's. Hermione had been making progress, and he figured it was high time they started phase three of her recovery: physical exercise.

If her reaction to the pair of hiking boots was anything to go by, he had a feeling this newly incorporated part of her treatment was going to go over like a petrified hippogriff. She was never keen on any sports while at school—he could remember her showing up to the Quidditch matches but never really enjoying the sport—but surely there had to be some sort of physical activity the witch enjoyed. Besides shagging, of course.

During dinner, a small discussion was held on Hermione's first trip outside the cottage, and Harry's plans for the following week—as he had received an owl just before they sat down from Aurora. She had booked a last minute photoshoot for an upcoming article on the ten-year Battle of Hogwarts Memorial Gala that the Ministry was hosting the next winter. Draco couldn't help but notice the odd interaction between Hermione and Harry over the course of their meal. The way he would watch her through his thick black lashes, only to look away when she glanced up to him. Or the way Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when their hands touched as they both reached for the salt shaker. While the behavior was strange, Draco simply wrote off the abnormality on each of them settling into their newly rekindled friendship.

After dinner, Hermione excused herself to go shower while he and Harry cleaned up the kitchen. He was exhausted, and the temptation of pulling out his wand to magically clean the mess was great, but he'd made a promise to Hermione that he intended on keeping. That was how he found himself standing next to the raven-haired wizard with a dishtowel, hand drying the plates, utensils, silverware, and pans that Harry hand washed.

The pair worked in comfortable silence, only the melody of classical Muggle music filling the room from the antique radio. Draco reached over and took the dripping plate from Harry's soapy hand as he leaned against the counter with his right hip. He could feel Harry's eyes linger on him despite the fact he refused to meet his gaze. From the moment Hermione walked out of the room, the tension between them increased tenfold. It was as if when she was around, she provided enough of a distraction for Harry not to focus his energy on figuring out what had happened between them so many years ago.

"Why did you never respond to my owls, Draco?" Harry finally asked when the sound of the running water from the shower could be heard, knowing he would have plenty of time to pull the answers he wanted from the flaxen haired wizard.

The use of his given name on Harry's tongue made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Pausing his motion of drying the dish, Draco finally lifted his eyes to Harry, and a slow smirk splashed across his lips "Took you long enough, Potter." Draco laughed. "I've been waiting for you to ask me this since I found you in her room two weeks ago."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" Harry pulled his hands from the soapy water, and he turned to face Draco, his hip pressing into the cold tile of the countertop as he leaned over and took the kitchen towel from Draco's hands and used it to dry his own. The dishes could wait until this was settled.

"I'm not sure, if I'm being honest." Draco only offered him a lazy shrug as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It's been eight years. A lot has happened since then."

Harry's eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he exhaled a heavy puff of breath. Of course a lot had happened since then, but it didn't really change the fact that it _did_ happen. They shagged. They had something going between them, no matter how fucked up, and he just left! With no fucking word. No owl. No phone call. Nothing. Not even a bloody email once the Roost was up and running. Just radio silence. And perhaps that was the part that bugged Harry the most. "But clearly you haven't forgotten what happened either."

Draco cocked his head to the side, a single brow lifting in amusement, and he nodded. He wouldn't have been able to deny that he'd thought about their couple of months together if he wanted to. The memories from that time in his life often rolled through his head as he lay in bed during those lonely nights in New York. "Of course I didn't. I would never try to say I did."

Harry lifted a brow, ruffling his already artfully disheveled hair before he twisted the tips of his black fringe, emerald eyes dropping away from Draco to look at the wooden floor as he tried to collect his thoughts. The fact that Draco hadn't forgotten did more to his ego than the fair wizard realised. It wasn't as if Harry spent years pining over him—far from it—but in the back of his mind, he'd always wondered why Draco had left so abruptly. Was it something he did? Something he said during their stolen nights together? "I owled you. I know you got the letters because they never came back," Harry started, lifting his eyes from the drab flooring once he'd righted his run away feelings. "So why didn't you respond?"

"What a loaded question, Harry." Draco ran his tongue over his lips before biting the corner, his eyes drifting towards the ceiling in thought. "I… I don't know. It was eight years ago." Pushing off the counter, Draco began to pace the kitchen, his long legs carrying him across the small space in the blink of an eye. "What would you have wanted me to say anyways? 'Thanks for the shag, Scar-Head. I'll wank to the memories while I hop across the pond to figure out my own shite'?"

"Ideally, no. That explanation is far from what I was—am—looking for, but it would have been better than the silence I received." Harry sighed, dropping his hands. He stuffed them in the front pocket of his jeans.

"Silence was the best thing I could offer you then," Draco returned.

Harry winced at his words, and he looked away from the wizard, turning his attention to his sock clad feet. The best he could offer? No, the best he could have offered was not bloody running. Or, at the very least, letting him know _why_ he disappeared. "So… it was a mistake? Was I a mistake? Is that why you left?"

Draco's eyes widened, and he stopped pacing. The momentary shock of Harry's question caught him completely off guard. Was the reason he left England _Harry-bloody-Potter?_ How fucking self-centered was the boy wonder? Hadn't ten years afforded him enough time to pull his head from the clouds? And just as suddenly as he froze in the centre of the room, Draco burst out laughing. His hands carded through silky blond hair, pushing it back on his head. "You honestly think I left England because we fucked a couple of times?"

Harry immediately bristled, a small frown tugging on the corners of his lips. "First off, it was more than _a couple_ times," he defended, "And I don't know why you bloody left! I'm trying to bloody figure it out since you ignored me all these years—"

"Harry, stop." Draco lifted his hand towards Harry when he cut him off. "I didn't leave because of anything you did. I left because… I needed a change of scenery. My mum died, my dad was as good as dead in Azkaban, and the Ministry let me off but gave me a fine that was almost as big as the amount in my parents' vault," Draco began. He was sick and tired of being so bloody vulnerable all the time, but he owed Harry this. Or at least it felt that way, because he _had_ ignored the wizard's inquires. He hadn't even bothered to read the letters, often just disposing of them with an _Incendio_ the moment they appeared. He couldn't bring himself to figure out what Harry wanted back then, not when everything felt so bloody wrong and broken. "I was confused, and I didn't think my leaving would matter."

"So what we did—was it a mistake?" Harry questioned, his brow furrowing. "You were confused and shagged me and then ran?"

Draco sighed with a quick shake of his head. Merlin, did he have to spell out everything for him? Crossing the room, Draco approached Harry cautiously, careful to give the wizard all the notice he needed to tell him to fuck off. Reaching out, he placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, using the touch to pull his attention fully to him. He didn't want to repeat himself again. He needed Harry to understand that his leaving had nothing to do with what transpired between them. "No. It was not a mistake. It was probably the only right thing I did back then," Draco said softly, yet firmly. Grey eyes leveled with Harry's green. The same eyes he would get lost in so long ago. Part of him wanted that back. To let them swallow him whole and make him forget his past mistakes. Make him forgive himself for his transgressions. "Me leaving wasn't about you, Harry. I didn't have a chance here. I couldn't go anywhere without someone knowing… what I was. What my family had been. I made too many mistakes, but I can assure you finding you that night in the White Wyvern was not one of them."

Harry's mouth felt dry. His proximity to the wizard made his entire body turn aflame. He hadn't been this bloody close to Draco in a long time. They'd kept their distance the previous two weeks, and rightly so. This thrumming of magic between them was still as strong as before, but worse now was the fact that he felt something similar with Hermione. This magnetic pull, this unexplainable draw. Like a moth to a flame. Harry wanted so bloody desperately to burn if it meant he got to feel like this. "So… why didn't you respond?"

Draco felt his hand on Harry's shoulder, his fingers pressing softly against the thick muscle of his trapezius. He knew he should pull away, but that spark between them kept him rooted in place. "I needed some time to gather my thoughts. Figure out what kind of man I wanted to be now that the war was over."

Harry nodded, understanding that sentiment all too well. "And how's that working out for you?" he breathed, taking half a step closer to Draco.

"Brilliantly." Draco smirked. "I think I might be halfway there already." When Harry chuffed in response to his joke, he tugged lightly on Harry's shoulder, guiding the wizard closer until their hips grazed one another. At the contact, Harry gave him a hungry, half-lidded look that nearly undid him completely. The feverish need ignited low in his belly, and he debated breaking his own rules and pulling those full lips against his. "Tell me, Potter. Was it a mistake for you?"

"What?" Harry gulped, his eyes flickering between Draco's lips and the consuming grey eyes that turned his mind to mush. From this distance, he couldn't help but wonder if Draco would taste the same as he had before. Would his touch feel as heady, knowing that there was also something sparking between him and Hermione? Because even despite his need to figure out what was happening between him and the witch, his body clearly craved the smoky, barrel-aged whiskey kisses that he had shared with Draco long ago.

"Shagging me. Was it a mistake?" Draco breathed.

"No… it was confusing," Harry admitted, his pink tongue darting out to run across his bottom lip. Merlin, why would he asked him something like that at a time like this? "I—uh… I had never been with a bloke before you. Not after either."

Draco pressed the tip of his tongue against his canine tooth as his smirk broke into what his friends would call a shite eating grin. He knew Harry had been with women—hell, he'd been with several since their short-lived fling ended, but knowing that he alone still held the sole claim to turning the boy-wonder bent was more than a little arousing. "Hmmm… shame."

"Why's that?" Harry gulped.

"Because if memory serves me well…" Draco began, his voice dangerously low, like the sound of lightning cracking in the distance, warning of an incoming thunderstorm. His right hand moved from his side, and he brushed the back of his knuckles across Harry's stubbled jaw. Molten silver eyes dropping to look at the wizard's mouth, and he dragged his thumb just beneath Harry's bottom lip. "You had a _very_ talented mouth."

All of the reasons for him to keep his distance from Draco suddenly vanished, and Harry reached up, his fingers curling into the cropped locks on the back of Draco's head, and he pulled the wizard down to him. As their lips crashed against one another, the consuming magic overtook his senses, the frantic need to devour every inch of Draco taking hold.

Draco's body easily molded to Harry's, his hands sliding around the wizard's middle, and he pulled him tight as he backed him against the counter. His mouth slanted to the side as his tongue breached Harry's lips and made its way into his mouth. He didn't ask for permission, instead he took everything that he wanted, leaving no stone unturned as his hands forged paths across the expanse of Harry's muscular back. He'd nearly forgotten what this felt like—the snap of energy, the thrilling tingle of his kiss. It was nearly too much. Better than any drug he'd ever taken. He felt Harry's heart thump wildly against his chest, encouraging his own wicked behaviour.

And just as quickly as their kiss began, the sound of the bathroom door opening at the end of the hallway made Draco pull away from Harry's mind-altering kiss. He took two purposeful steps back, blown pupils dilating in the soft light of the kitchen, and he dragged the back of his hand across his kiss swollen lips, as if trying to hide evidence of what just occurred. "I… I'm going to bed." Draco finally spoke, his voice thick and rough with a forbidden need. He didn't bother to wait for Harry's reply; instead, he turned quickly on his heel to do what he did best—run and hide.

Harry stayed frozen, his hands bracing himself against the countertop as he took deep and steady breaths to slow his runaway heart. His eyes were wide, staring unmoving at the spot Draco had been standing in moments before. He knew he shouldn't want this—whatever it was between him and Draco. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to want whatever he felt earlier with Hermione! He was supposed to be here _for_ Hermione; they were here to make her better! But as he stood in the kitchen, his lips kiss swollen, and his mind racing, his heart couldn't help but wonder if he was allowed to explore the feelings he had for both of them without losing himself to madness in the process.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Sorry this took so long to post. Not entirely sure what happened. Thank you for all your lovely reviews!

come follow me on tumblr - ms-merlinblack


	8. Wellness

Everything fucking hurt. Not just her head, but every fucking muscle. Every finger. Every toe. And especially her lungs. But this time, it wasn't the withdrawal. It wasn't the longing she still felt for those little blue pills or the bottom of the bottle. No, everything hurt because Draco-Fucking-Malfoy decided a fitness regimen was necessary in her recovery process. If there was one thing Hermione abhorred more than anything else in the world, it was physical exercise.

She'd made the most of the hiking due to circumstances during what should have been her seventh year at Hogwarts, but logically speaking, there was little reason why she would need to climb the side of a mountain. _It's good for you,_ Malfoy explained as he pulled her out of bed so rudely at four in the bloody morning. Good for her? Since when did she care what was _good_ for her? Taking fucking Dragon's breath wasn't good for her. Drinking countless bottles of firewhiskey, vodka, and whatever other alcoholic substance she could wrap her fingers around was decidedly not good for her. Why he thought she had any bloody concern about her physical health was beyond her.

That was how she found herself in the middle of the bloody forest, hiking up the side of a small foothill. Sweat trickled down her spine, soaking her grey tank top in a completely unbecoming manner, but she couldn't be bothered to give two shits about appearances when her lungs felt like they were on fire.

"Hurry up, Granger," Malfoy called back to her. He was nearly two metres in front of her, walking backwards with a smirk on his lips.

"Oh fuck off," Hermione huffed under her breath, giving him the two finger salute before reaching up to wipe her sweaty brow with a grimace. Even from this distance, Hermione could see that Malfoy had not even broken a sweat during their climb. They had been walking for nearly four hours, and the bloody prat didn't even have so much as a hair out of place. Meanwhile, she looked like hell incarnate. Wild curls frizzed from the messy bun on the top of her head, her cheeks were flushed, and every inch of her body was covered in sweat. She wished more than ever she had her wand. Not so she could make herself presentable, but rather so she could hex that shite-eating-smirk off his face.

"We're almost to the top. Once you're up there, if you still feel like punching me, I'll let you," Draco promised before he stopped, waiting for her to catch up with him. He'd never known Hermione to be a particularly athletic person, but judging by the way she was practically stomping up the hill, he'd wager to guess she had done very little physical exercise over the last decade.

This was part of the recovery. The physical wellness. It was another non-negotiable part of this program. Working out was mandatory because without physical health, it was almost impossible to be mentally healthy. He'd come to realise over the years that being sober required more than just fighting the need for a drug. Three aspects of wellness were required. Mental, physical, and spiritual. He'd done the first part: mentally breaking her from the vice like grip of addiction. He would need to work with her on the physical next before finally moving to spiritual. He'd begun to view addiction recovery like a stool: without one of those three legs, the entire thing would collapse. It had taken him years to figure out this method, but he would wager his own sanity on it now.

The physical aspect was the easiest part of the triangle, which is why it was so humorous that Hermione was acting like he'd told her to kiss the back end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"Don't tempt me with a good time, Malfoy." Hermione's feet felt like lead as she approached the arrogant blond. As horrible as this little adventure was, she was at least thankful for not being trapped inside the tiny cabin. The walls had begun to feel like they were closing in, and she could only slam the bedroom door in Malfoy's face so many times before it lost its emphasis. And she was running out of excuses to leave the room when Harry got too close. Whatever that tingle of magic was she felt whenever he touched her was terrifying. Mainly because it made her forget all the reasons as to why she shouldn't act upon it.

The sound of the dead leaves crunching beneath their boots provided a soundtrack as they walked in silence. Side by side, Draco and Hermione worked their way up the well-worn dirt path, taking the low grade switchbacks carved into the side of the foothill. Hermione was enjoying the quiet, taking the time to try and even out her breath, when he broke the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

"How did it all start?" Draco questioned, grey eyes glancing discreetly to the disheveled brunette beside him. Sure, he knew the story—t was his bloody job—but he wanted to hear it from her. He wanted her to go through the motions of putting her addiction into words. Depending on how she spun the story—like a spider weaving its web—he would be able to determine how much work still needed to be done. Would she leave gaping holes that would allow words to fall through like missed prey, or would she craft a carefully woven net of truth, trapping all of the reality behind what had become of her over the last ten years?

"A blond arsehole woke me up at nearly six in the morning and told me we were going on a hike before shoving a pile of clothes at me," Hermione said as she shot daggers at said blond. She knew full well what he was asking, but she wasn't going to let him off that easy. If he was inquiring about her supposed problem, he needed to ask the bloody question instead of beating around the bush about it.

"Very funny," Draco replied. "I meant the drugs and drinking."

"You want to know this _now_?" Hermione returned, her lips pursing. "We're in the middle of the bloody forest, climbing up a hill to what I can only assume is where you might give me some motivational speech about bullshite I don't want to hear, and you want to discuss when I started drinking and taking Dragon's Breath?"

"First off, I don't give motivational speeches. That's more of a Potter quality. I drop little nuggets of the truth people don't want to hear," Draco corrected with a roll of his eyes before he turned his head to look at her, no longer hiding his observation. "So yes, I would like to talk about that now. Unless, of course, you'd rather discuss something else… like, say, how your career is going?"

"Considering I'm trapped here with you and Harry, I have a feeling you know exactly how my career is going, Malfoy." Hermione sighed, her hands lifting to her hair and she began to tighten the elastic band over her messy bun. "Uh… I'm not sure how it started, to be honest. It just kind of happened, I suppose."

"Go back to the beginning then. When did you first realise you had a problem?" Draco suggested.

"I don't have a problem," Hermione lied, her teeth sinking into the inside of her bottom lip, chewing on the sensitive skin as a means of stopping herself from snapping at him. She hated this—this bloody idiot's attempts at getting her to admit she'd fucked up too many times. Of course she knew she had! But she did _not_ have a problem. She could have stopped at any time, _if_ she had wanted to.

"Oh, _my apologies_. I must not have realised that fellating a Weasley was such fun," Draco shot back, his hands moving to curl around the straps of his backpack against his shoulders, his thumb nail scratching irritatedly at the woven fabric.

Hermione could feel her anger begin to simmer, a low rumble deep in the pit of her stomach, but she refused to fall victim to his games. "It really is," she began, giving him a look that dared him to challenge her. "You should give it a try some time. I've heard how much you like sucking cock."

Draco felt his cheeks flush, and his mouth twitched. Had Potter—? No, he couldn't have! If Harry had outed him, the wizard would outed himself, and Draco very much doubted that the Boy-Hero was willing to admit he once liked to bottom for a former Death Eater. Doing his best to hide his reaction, Draco took the opportunity to slip the backpack off his shoulder and begin to unzip the main compartment. "Cut the shite, Granger, and just fucking tell me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, watching as Draco withdrew two metal canteens from the backpack, and he thrust one against her chest. With an annoyed sigh, Hermione took the canteen—only because she was bloody thirsty!–and began to provide the details Draco was so bloody hell bent on hearing.

"I guess, if there had to be a starting point, it would be after the war. After Fred's funeral. We drank that night. Harry, Ron, Ginny and I. We left the Burrow once he was put in the ground and walked across the field to this rock formation Ron used to play at as a kid with Fred and George, and we had a drink—in honour of Fred. I'd never really drank much before then. Maybe a glass of wine at dinner with my parents before…" Hermione's voice trailed off at the mention of her parents, and for the briefest of moments, her brown eyes took on a faraway quality that she quickly blinked away. She could discuss her drinking with him. Hell, she could discuss her drug use and having sex with Charlie to get her next fix, but she was going to be damned if she talked about her parents. That was too personal—too raw. She was not yet ready to share those demons with anyone, especially him. Taking advantage of the break in her story, she took a large swig from the canteen and used the back of her hand to wipe the residue away from her lips before continuing.

"But I'd never been drunk until then, and it felt good. _Really_ good. The firewhisky silenced that nagging little voice in the back of my head, and I was able to forget about how fucking painful everything was. I didn't really start drinking regularly though until… well, I guess until after Claudine told me I couldn't see Ron." Hermione's brow knit as the memories of that conversation replayed in her mind. Her former assistant was just following orders, likely dictated by higher ups within the Ministry, but it didn't matter. She was so furious. She was not going to sit around and let them dictate every aspect of her life.

"I went to his flat that night to try and get some sort of… I don't know, some sort of plan in order. We'd just started dating, and I figured he felt as strongly about me as I did about him." Hermione laughed flatly. "He obviously did not. So… I guess I really started drinking more after that. It helped numb the pain I suppose."

Draco nodded, letting the silence linger before them for a moment longer than necessary. He could hear the pain in her words, but even as she exposed the hints of the demons that lived within her soul to him, he knew she still had her guard up. It was like cracking open a new book only to find that there were large chunks of the story missing. Blank pages. Taunting you to find their secrets. It scared him to admit, but he wanted to know more. He wanted to hear her story. He wanted her to get clean. He had never felt so bloody invested in the wellbeing of one of his clients before. He was normally reserved, stone-faced, and level-headed. But there was something about her that drew him in.

"Were you in love with the Weasel, then?" Draco broke the silence, glancing casually at the witch beside him even though he felt like his heart was pounding erratically. The question wasn't really important to her treatment, but dammit if he wasn't curious. He wanted—no, needed to know.

"With Ron?" Hermione shook her head before Draco could confirm that was indeed who he was talking about. "At the time I thought so."

"And now?" Draco pressed. The walking path began to narrow, bringing them closer together as they worked their way up to the vista point. At the closer proximity, her scent wafted over to him on the autumn breeze, igniting a low fire in his belly that he had a hard time ignoring. Over the heady smell of her sweat, Hermione smelt like the freshly-cut spring flowers his mother used to leave in vases around the Manor. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he cleared the tickle in the back of his throat before dropping his pace to walk behind her, hoping the change in position would allow him to escape from her intoxicating scent.

"Now? No. I don't think I've ever been in love. In lust? Sure, but love is different, isn't it?" Hermione shrugged, glancing over her shoulder to the blond wizard. Her brows lifted in a silent question of what the hell he was doing falling behind her, but when he responded by waving off her inquiry like a gnat, she simply turned back around. "If I had been in love, I highly doubt I could remember it now."

"So if you realised you didn't actually love him, why did you continue drinking?" Draco questioned.

"Because it's fun," Hermione answered bluntly, but when an exasperated sigh sounded behind her, she knew he was looking for something more than the surface-level answer. Pursing her lips, she took a moment to think about the question. Why _had_ she continued? It didn't take long after their break up for Hermione to realise what she thought she had with Ron was simply teenage romance, yet it still bothered her. The fact that he had so easily dropped her no longer hurt like it used to, but there was something else. There was something larger than the superficial facts.

"That was the first time that the Ministry told us what we could or could not do, but it certainly wasn't the last. Who we could or could not date, what type of people we needed to associate with, and even the clothing we wore. Then they started demanding more ludicrous things like how I styled my hair, and Claudine even wanted me to start highlighting my hair because _blondes sell more magazine covers_." Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance, still obviously sore about that particular conversation. "We fought to end a regime. Harry, Ron, and I. But suddenly we were following orders from someone else: be here at a certain time, dress this way, smile pretty, and whatever we did, we had to make sure we absolutely did not open our mouths. We were figureheads. Bloody War-Hero's that they turned into puppets and paraded around like some sort of prize that the Ministry had won…We were kids; no one took us seriously back then—not that they do now, even. We might have risked our lives to save Wizarding Britain, but they'd thought we weren't smart enough to have a bloody opinion. Sure, the Ministry isn't as bad as Voldemort and his followers, but isn't being robbed of making decisions in my life just as bad? Because for me, either life was torture."

"So you drank to cope?" Draco said before running his tongue across his dry lips.

"I guess if you want to simplify it, sure. I drank to cope," Hermione agreed.

"That's one of the first things you've said since you woke up in the cottage that I completely understand." Draco reached up, his hand smoothing back his flaxen hair. "Everyone treated life after the Battle as some sort of celebration. Like we ought to be thankful we made it out alive, never mind the body count, the broken homes, or the literal wounds that still had not healed. I struggled to wrap my head around it. How could I be bloody happy when I took part in the reason so many lost their lives? In the end, I stood up for what I believed, but it was too late. I was already branded."

His hand instinctively went to his covered forearm, curling around the tattoo they both knew was there. "I drank too. To numb the pain, I suppose."

Hermione was supposed to hate him for doing this do her, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to make a smart arse comment because she knew those exact same feelings all too well. Everyone had told her she was supposed to be happy, but she wasn't. She was fucking ruined by that point. No mum and dad. No boyfriend. No Harry. She had risked everything that was important to her in her life, and what did she have to show for it by the end? A fancy flat and subordinate contract with the Ministry? No thank you. That was not the life she had signed up for. "It felt better to not be in control of my own destiny because of my choice to drink rather than because someone else called the shots," she admitted, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. The drinking didn't fix her problem though, did it? The drinking lead to taking Dragon's Breath because she got to a point where the alcohol wouldn't numb the pain. Where the demons she waged war with still made it through the drunken haze. The drugs helped. They numbed the pain, but they also numbed everything else until she simply couldn't feel.

Her eyes closed for a moment as the distant memory of what that little blue pill tasted like pulled at the back of her mind. What she wouldn't give to just fucking take one more. One more pill. One more drink. Gods, if she could make this pain, the pain that felt like an axe wound in the center of her chest, disappear with just one pill or one drink, she would do it a thousand times over. Because the reality was she was not capable of facing her problems. Not yet. Not now. Possibly not ever. She was too broken. Too damaged. Harry might have stumbled back into her life, but the reality was she was going to be alone forever. No one loved her. She was worthless. Being sober did not make her question these facts—it made them more true than before because she wasn't able to hide behind the haze of inhibition.

"You alright, Granger?" Draco questioned as he watched her pace slow to a crawl in front of him. He'd nearly ran into her backside if he had not lifted his eyes up from the forest floor in time.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she nodded, glancing over her shoulder to Draco. "Yeah sorry, just thinking." she lied before looking back up the trail. In the distance, she could make out what she assumed was their destination: the trail ended at a small clearing in the trees.

She and Draco moved the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the blond prat trailing behind her, thankfully giving her some much needed breathing room. By the time she made it to the clearing, her heavy breath had leveled out a bit, and she no longer felt as sweaty as she had earlier, but that was mainly due to the lack of overhead afternoon sun.

Walking out into the clearing, the trail emptied into a large, grassy field that was situated on the side of a foothill where a cliff had formed. The vista point was breathtaking. A view of the forest valley lay before them, and the rolling hills of green glistened beautifully against the pink and purple sky. It was like a painting. So pristine. Not an ounce of broken landscape or life was visible from this vantage point.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she looked at the scenery before her, her hands resting flat against her abdomen. As she took in the beauty, a small tingling of pride set in. She had hiked up here. Begrudgingly, yes. But just the same, she had done it on her own. Two weeks ago, if Draco told her she could make this hike, she would have told him to fuck off. And technically speaking, she had tried that tactic just the same this morning, but he had dragged her out here anyway and made her climb.

She felt him walk up beside her, the heat from his body warming the side of hers as they stood side by side admiring the picturesque view. "Thank you," Hermione whispered as if afraid loud noise would ruin the moment.

Draco glanced down to the witch, blond eyebrows lifting at her in mock surprise. "Come again? I think I must have misheard you," he teased.

Hermione's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she heaved a sigh before turning to face him. "I said thank you," she repeated begrudgingly, "for dragging me up here against my will… for believing I could do it."

Humility was not a trait Draco possessed. He was—after all—a Malfoy. The side of his mouth tugged up in a smile that was sharp enough to cut, and he accepted her praise like a kneazle that got into cream. "You're welcome. Perhaps you'll trust my judgement now?"

"Not a chance," Hermione quickly returned, laughter lining her words. "One good deed does not outweigh nearly a decade of past experience, Malfoy."

Draco laughed, the corner of his eyes wrinkling. "Alright, but I'd like to think I've done more than just one good deed since you've been in my care. I bought you those boots, cleaned you up when you were sick, and I feed you nearly every night."

"I'll give you the boots, but the other two don't count," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her bust.

"Oh? And why not? They sound fairly chivalrous to me," Draco defended, his head cocking to the side.

"Because you're taking payment to do them. The exchange for money and services negates the chivalry of any deed you claim while you're working," Hermione said, far too happy to point out the loophole she had found in his logic. She rocked between the heels of her feet and her toes and wagged her brows at him as a self-satisfied smirk plastered onto her features.

Draco shook his head, his left hand kneading the taut muscles of his neck. Technically speaking, she wasn't wrong. He was providing a service, and it was his job to take care of her. But what she didn't know was he had not received full payment for this job yet. He'd given Potter a hefty figure when he requested his services, partially hoping the wizard wouldn't take it. When he did, Draco had been shocked. How Potter was able to amass so much wealth that he could spend a triple-figure Galleon quote at the drop of a hat was beyond him, but it was clear that Harry was intent on helping his friend. That was why he only demanded half down up front. Not his normal protocol, but he felt almost bad for the wizard. Besides, Hermione was not going to be an easy case to crack; he had already known that. If he did fail, he didn't really feel like being that negative in the hole to the boy wonder.

"You're right. I suppose it doesn't count," Draco relented before dropping his hand from his shoulder, and he reached out, gently laying it on Hermione's shoulder in a friendly gesture.

As soon as Draco touched her, the spark ran between them. It began at the point where his fingers grazed against her bare shoulder and ran a line directly to her heart before heading south and pooling between her thighs. Unlike what she had felt with Harry, which was fast and wild, this spark felt familiar. Like returning to the Gryffindor dorm rooms after summer holiday. It felt comforting and reassuring, like everything in the world was going to be okay. It made her want to press her body against his and see just how bloody right it was. And just as quick as the consuming tendrils wrapped around her consciousness, Hermione gasped and pulled away from his touch.

Brown eyes widened, and she looked at his long fingers as if they would show the reason for the sensation. When she found nothing on them that would have caused the static electricity show, she looked back up into his eyes and knew in an instant he felt it too. That pull. The magic that seemed to sing its siren's song between them when they touched. "I… I…" Hermione stammered nervously, unsure of what to say or do. This was Malfoy! Fucking Malfoy! Slytherin prat. _Ex-Death Eater_. Her sober coach, for lack of a better term. She wasn't supposed to feel fucking anything about him beyond being perpetually pissed off by his presence!

Draco gulped, his Adam's apple running the length of his throat as he watched her gobsmacked expression. He'd felt this before. This comforting magic. This sweet reminder of life before the war. How he felt as a child. Warm. Safe. He thought it was a fluke, an anomaly because it had only happened once before, but now he knew. Now he knew that visceral reaction was not just happenstance, but rather _because of her_.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought, and he pulled his hand back, quickly rubbing his stinging palm against his thigh. "It's going to get dark soon. We should head back," Draco said quickly, his tongue moistening his lips as he took a step backwards from her. "Don't stay up here too long."

Before Hermione could utter a single word, she watched Draco turn around and stride back to the trail they had just walked up, her heart pounding, her skin aflame, and her mind racing with the possibilities about what this reaction to his touch could possibly mean.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I always think of great things to leave in the Author's Note when I'm writing, but when I come to actually posting they vanish. So instead you get some rambling. Thank you all for the amazing reviews. They honestly inspire me to keep writing! Thank you Ravenslight for being an amazing beta, and disenchantedglow for alpha'ing me through my madness. Come follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack


	9. Fever Magic

By the time Draco and Hermione made it back from their day hike, Harry had dinner ready. While Harry's skills in the kitchen were far from the cuisine that he was raised eating or anywhere close to what the house-elves at Hogwarts served, the lemon chicken casserole and simple salad tasted better than usual. It could have been the ravenous hunger after the ten kilometer hike, but Draco had a feeling it had to do with the magic that still tingled across his palm from earlier.

Hermione and he had not spoken a single word on their way back to the little cottage. While outside it was easy to ignore the unexplainable draw he felt towards the curly haired witch, now that they were hidden behind the walls of the simple homestead, it was all he could bloody think about. The way her hair smelled like wild flowers, freshly bloomed from a heavy summer rain. Or the way her nose would wrinkle when she found something these little things that had gone unnoticed over the last couple weeks were now all he could focus on as they sat across from each other at the rickety dinner table.

It was bad enough he clearly still had feelings for Harry, but now this? This fascination with Hermione was absolutely not allowed. She was his client. He was hired to do a bloody job and get her better, not fantasize about what little noises she might make in bed. Was she a screamer? Or one of those witches who stifled their moans for fear of sounding too wanton. Adjusting himself underneath the table, he tucked his semi-erect cock into the waistband of his boxers and shorts, hoping it would concealed enough for him to sneak out of the room without it being noticed.

Draco excused himself from the dinner table, abandoning his plate, and he made a beeline for his room to retrieve fresh pajamas from his trunk. Once an acceptable pair had been found, he tucked them under his arm and moved into the bathroom. Turning the tap on the shower to an acceptable temperature of scalding hot, Draco stripped the dirty hiking clothes and left them in a pile in the middle of the bathmat.

He let out a small hiss of pained pleasure as he stepped into the shower, the spray biting at his back, soothing the expanse of muscles there. He allowed his head to tip back until a steady stream of water covered his face. With his eyes closed, and only the sound of the rushing water filling his senses, Draco allowed himself to finally think about what the hell this spark he felt with Hermione had meant.

It was so similar to the spark of magic he felt between him and Harry, but yet so bloody different. Where Harry created a fever, this magic from Hermione did the opposite. It soothed him. It was like finding a kindred spirit out in the wild. They both had experienced the grip of addiction and fallen prey to the darkness it ushered in. But the stir in his cock painfully reminded him that it was much more than just similarly damaged souls. He was attracted to her. He wanted to pick her brain apart and put it back together. He wanted to figure out everything that made her tick and make sure she never found the consuming void of addiction again. After the war he'd sworn he would never attempt to save anyone ever again—not after his last attempt of saving his family ended so bloody poorly—but that was exactly it. Gods help him, he wanted to save her.

His right hand curled around the shaft of his cock as his left rose to brace himself against the wall, the spray of the water still beating against his back as he began to slowly stroke himself. His mind strayed to images of the witch in just the other room, except in his mind she was not alone. A fantasy he hadn't even known existed began to bloom in his mind, unfurling and captivating him as he pumped his cock; Hermione on her hands and knees in front of him, his cock disappearing between her plump pink lips as he fucked her mouth. His hand wound in the endless mess that was her hair, and as he filled her mouth, Harry knelt behind her, filling her cunt. While Draco could only imagine what Hermione looked like lost in the throws of ecstasy, he knew _exactly_ how Harry looked. How his eyes would roll to the back of his head, and his fingers would curl almost painfully tight around whatever he could grasp. Or the way his left leg would twitch just before he came.

It did not take him long to find release, his teeth clamping against his bottom lip to stifle his moan as his seed splattered against the slippery shower floor before swirling down the drain. His heart beat wildly, the forbidden fantasy burning the images into his mind despite his better judgement. Draco snatched the closest bottle of shampoo off the ledge and made quick work of washing his hair before using the shower gel he'd brought from America to cleanse the day's work from his body. Making sure no evidence of what he had done in the shower was left on the basin, Draco eventually turned off the water before toweling dry.

He dressed in a simple pair of black cotton pajama pants and a loose fit v-neck. Defogging the mirror with his hand, Draco ruffled the water from his hair before carding his fingers through the blond locks to achieve some semblance of order. Not everyone was as gifted as Harry in the art of appearing roguishly disheveled. He knew he was just wasting time, because the truth was he didn't give a shit about how he looked right now. He wasn't ready to face either of his two roommates yet, especially not after having a damn good wank to a truly depraved fantasy of which they were the starring cast. But, with a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't very well spend the rest of his night holed up in the bathroom.

Draco leaned on the countertop, leveling his eyes at his own reflection as he mentally prepared himself to walk back out into the living room. He could do this. He could act like whatever he had felt was nothing. He could fix Granger without giving in to these feelings for her. She'd made progress today, and while she still had a way to go, it was something. A ray of hope that helped him cast the forbidden feelings to the back of his mind. He _could_ do this. So what if he'd had a wank? It wasn't illegal, and it wasn't like either of the Gryffindors specialized in legilimency.

Pushing off the counter, Draco collected his clothing from the floor and hung his bath towel before exiting the bathroom. He tossed his dirty clothes into the small wicker basket in his room and made the trek down the tiny hallway towards the living room. Each step he took sped his heartbeat in anticipation of seeing Harry and Hermione again.

Stepping into the room, Draco glanced around the dimly lit space curiously, not seeing or hearing the pair, and it wasn't until he was halfway through the room that he finally noticed where they were. Harry was sitting on one side of the couch, his feet propped against the table, his body slumped into the oversized cushions with his right arm draped loosely around Hermione, who was laying across the rest of the couch with her head in his lap. Both of them were dead asleep.

Draco debated breaking his own rule and magicking them to their rooms but decided to leave them be for now. Instead, he covered each of them with a throw blanket before moving into his bedroom to retrieve a small stack of letters that had been steadily arriving for Hermione since they'd taken residence in the cottage. He might as well make the most of the alone time while he had it, as he'd put off dealing with this particular problem longer than he should have.

The clock on the wall above the black and white telly told Harry it was nearly two in the morning when he finally woke up. His tired eyes looked around in confusion, trying to assess why he was in the living room. It wasn't until he felt something stir in his lap that he finally looked down and remembered what had happened. He and Hermione had been waiting for Draco to come out of the shower when they sat down on the couch. She was tired after her day's hike, and he offered to wake her up once Draco vacated the only bathroom in the cottage so she could shower before crawling into bed. By the time her head hit his lap, she was almost immediately asleep. Obviously, the melodic rhythm of her deep breathing coupled with the sound of the running water had been enough for him to drift off as he waited.

Peeling away the throw blanket, Harry carefully lifted Hermione's head from his lap and shoved a small couch pillow underneath before he stood up. His back ached from the awkward position in which he'd fallen asleep, and his eyes felt like all of the moisture had been sucked from them. He hated falling asleep in his contacts. With all the magical advancement that had been made since the end of the war, how no one had come up with a way to make moisture regulating contacts was beyond him. He rubbed his aching eyes with the back of his knuckles, squinting in the darkness towards the propped open front door. The porchlight was on, and a distinct smell of cigarette smoke had crept into the room.

Harry's stocking-clad feet carried him across the aged wooden floor, not trying to conceal his presence, and he reached out and pushed open the squeaky screen door before stepping out into the chilly autumn night. "Draco?" His voice cracked as he spoke, and he dropped his hand from his face.

Draco was sitting in a wicker chair, his long legs crossed at the ankle and propped up against the railing that ran around the cottage. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips and in his lap sat a small stack of parchment. Harry's voice pulled him out from his own thoughts, startling him back into reality. "Merlin's beard, Potter. Give a guy warning, would you?" he mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips.

"I didn't exactly sneak up on you, Draco," Harry said as he moved across the porch to claim the empty chair next to the blond. "What are you doing anyway? It's the middle of the fucking night."

Draco took a deep drag from his cigarette and turned his head to exhale, making sure to blow the smoke away from Harry as he dropped his feet to the ground. "Couldn't sleep." His lie was laced with truth. He had only planned on going through the letters before burning them, which would have taken an hour—tops—but their content revealed something more than what he'd expected.

When Draco took on Hermione as his newest client, he had made a point to reach out to Charlie to clear her debts. He never divulged his identity, of course, but rather kept the whole exchange simple. He was her new publicist and was clearing her name from Charlie's books. The four-hundred Galleon price tag that came with buying her freedom from him had felt inflated, but he sent the amount that Charlie required and wrote the transaction in his ledger for Potter to reimburse him later. At the time, he had assumed it would be the last he would hear from the Weasley brother . Typically, once the dealers had been paid their due, they tended to scurry off into the darkness like the cockroaches they were.

However, Charlie Weasley was far from an insect. He held dragon's blood in his veins, which clearly made him as tenacious as a rabid Chinese Fireball. Within days of arriving at the cottage, owls had begun arriving for Hermione. The letters Draco intercepted began innocent enough, simply inquiring as to where she was staying and who this new publicist was, but as time went on with no response from Hermione, they quickly turned lewd and much more demanding. Charlie claimed he wanted—no, needed—to see her. He waxed on about how he missed her, specifically how her lips felt wrapped around his cock or the way her cunt spasmed when she rode him while high on his product. It was like watching two players collide during a Quidditch match. As sick as it made him to read the letters, Draco couldn't stop himself from ripping each envelope open and increasing his hate for the second-born Weasley son.

"Right…" Harry's eyes narrowed in disbelief at the wizard, and he gestured to the stack of letters that Draco had placed his hand on top of possessively. "What's that?" he questioned with a slight nod of his head.

Draco hesitated, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth for another deep draw. Gray eyes swirled like the smoke that filled his lungs. He knew Harry was well aware what an absolute tosser Charlie had become, but what he didn't know was if Harry was ready to see just how deviant his childhood friend had become. Ashing his cigarette against the arm of his chair, he let the embers fall to the earth before picking up the letter he had intercepted two days prior and held it towards him. "Charlie's been writing Hermione."

"Oh…" Harry's voice trailed off as he took the letter from Draco and leaned back in his chair. His eyes read over the hastily scrawled note. Even if it had not been signed to indicate the author, Harry would have recognized the script. It was distinct. Charlie's letters were sloppy and sharp, almost unreadable. When Harry had first received written correspondence from him back in his fourth year, he nearly had to have Ron decipher his brothers' words. But after years of shared holidays and occasional friendly postcards, it had become easier to decipher.

Of course, the letters he had received over the years had been nothing like what he held in his hand now. Charlie was demanding Hermione come visit him. Calling her two-week disappearance disrespectful. He even went so far as to remind her that her body belonged to him, and he was sick of waiting for her to turn up. He promised pills and to _be gentle_ if she turned up at his London flat by Friday. As sickening as all of that was, the worst was his sign off from the despicable letter:

 _Just remember, Hermione: be the good girl I know you are and show up on Friday. I'll have a special treat for you waiting in my desk._

 _Dreaming of your cunt,_

 _Charlie_

By the time Harry had finished reading the letter, his fingers had curled tightly around the parchment, and his skin crawled with disgust. This was… this was fucking Charlie! This was the same bloody man who he'd shared numerous holidays with. The same man who looked out for him during the Triwizard Tournament. The same one who fought alongside both he and Hermione at The Battle of Hogwarts! Charlie was supposed to think of them as family. He wasn't supposed to say those things to Hermione, and he certainly wasn't supposed to fucking be telling her to come back to him with the promise of more drugs. And then, the reality of the situation hit him all at once.

Charlie wasn't just offering Hermione drugs to seduce her. He was keeping her addicted to Dragon's Breath so he could continue to use her. He might not have been the reason for her addiction, but he was taking advantage of her weakness and exploiting it for his personal gain.

A spark of magic popped from Harry's fingertips as rage overtook all of his senses, and the parchment he held burst into flames. Before he had a chance to react to his accidental magic, Draco had snatched the burning letter from his fingertips and tossed it on the ground with a curse.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Draco scolded as he pulled his bare feet away from the curling parchment embers that drifted in the soft autumn breeze.

Harry's right hand moved to the top of his head, his fingers twisting at the hair there while he watched the sloppy script that belonged to Charlie disappear amid the flames. "I… Sorry. I just—I can't fucking believe Charlie would write those things to her," he said, frowning as he lifted his eyes to watch Draco jam his cigarette into a small glass ashtray that had been sitting on the ground near his chair.

"Well believe it. I'd offer you more proof but I'd really not like to have to rescue Granger from a burning building if I can help it." Raising from the chair, Draco set the remaining letters on the seat he had vacated before he purposefully moved the chair away from Harry's reach with a warning glare that indicated he shouldn't bother trying to touch the rest. Moving around the pile of ash that had been the latest letter, Draco leaned back against the railing of the porch, his hands coming to rest on either side of his body on the wood.

"I didn't mean to," Harry defended, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. "I don't know what came over me. I just—it kept getting worse. His letter, that is. It was fucking… fucking vile." Harry dropped his hand from his head, smoothing it over his face as he tried to rid himself of the mental image of Charlie doing those things to Hermione. _His_ Hermione. She wasn't some _thing_ to be used. She was his best friend. She was _more_ than that—or at least, he hoped she would be once they made it through this program.

"I'm well aware how accidental magic works, Potter. Why do you think I was smoking while reading them?" Draco cocked a brow at Harry before gesturing to the pack of silver and blue Lambert & Butlers sitting next to the ashtray. While they weren't his brand of choice, they were what the Muggle store carried, and he was not going to find the American brand he had grown accustomed to over the years in a village this size in the middle of nowhere. "I've got it under control though."

Harry cocked his head to the side in a silent question as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the tops of his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees.

"I'm going to go pay Charlie a visit tomorrow. I already cleared Hermione's debt with him before you brought her here, but I'm hoping with a bit more money—and a promise of bodily harm—I can convince him to stop writing her," Draco said with a menacing glint in his eye. Draco might have successfully turned his image around, but he was still a former Death Eater, and if needed, he would use the villainous tactics taught to him long ago to make sure Charlie stayed as far away from Hermione as was fucking possible.

A forbidden thrill of excitement ran down Harry's spine while he watched Draco simmer with rage that equaled his own. He didn't know if it was because Draco was willing to go stand off against a drug lord or because he was doing it _for_ Hermione that excited him more. "I'm coming with you," Harry said without any hesitation.

"Absolutely not, Potter," Draco replied with a firm shake of his head.

"Why not? She's my friend! And he was supposed to be like family! If either of us deserves to go knock some bloody manners into Charlie, it's me," Harry said, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

"If we both run off to London, who the hell is going to stay here and help her?" Draco pointed out, his arms crossing against his chest. He watched as a flicker of recognition lit behind Harry's eyes, and the fire that had previously ignited his emotions began to simmer.

"Oh… right," Harry said, his lips quirking to the side.

"Besides, if you were to go, Aurora would have a litter of Kneazles," Draco pointed out, a smug smirk tugging on his mouth as he leaned back against the railing behind him. "Could you even imagine the headlines that would cause: "The Ministry's Golden Boy out visiting a known drug dealer with a Death Eater." We're trying to repair Hermione's public image, not destroy yours."

"Reformed Death Eater," Harry corrected, "Besides, I don't give a shite what Aurora or any of those Ministry officials think."

"You might believe I am reformed, Potter, but the rest of Britain doesn't give two fucks about my good deeds across the pond," Draco said with an amused laugh. "But by all means, defend what little honour I have left. Although, I hate to break it to you, no one's really going to care. I still bear the mark, which means I did the crime." Draco turned over his arm to Harry to expose the faded Dark Mark.

No matter how many time Harry had seen it, the inky blackness of the skull and snake still sent a shiver down his spine. Draco _had_ taken the mark, there was no use forgetting that fact. But he was different than the others. Draco never murdered or hated the same way others did. And in the end, Draco and his family had even helped during the Final Battle. While they did not wield wands of their own in defense of Hogwarts, Draco had supplied Harry with a wand when it was most needed. And without Narcissa's deceit—well, he surely would have been buried beneath rubble in Scotland instead of sitting in a cottage with her son.

Harry knew that this was not a fight he would win. Clearly with all the healing Draco had done since the last time Harry had seen him, he still had demons he had not yet conquered. Maybe that's why he took this job? To help clear his conscious of his wrongdoings. Clearing his throat, Harry snatched the package of cigarettes and lighter from the floor before he moved to lean against the railing next to Draco. He planted his elbows on the wood railing as he pulled a single cigarette from the pack before setting the items on the far side of the railing—purposely on the opposite side of the railing from Draco so the wizard would have to reach across him to take them back. "When did you take up smoking?" Harry questioned, hoping the change of subject would put the blond at ease.

Draco turned around and matched Harry's stance beside him, his shoulder brushing against the other wizard's as he leaned on the railing. "About the same time I stopped drinking." Reaching out, he took the cigarette from Harry's fingers and placed it between his own lips. His right hand turned palm up, and his eyes flicked between Harry's and the lighter he still held, silently asking him for it. He wasn't a fan of avoiding topics, but at nearly two a.m. he didn't much feel like getting under Harry's skin.

"Seems rather odd," Harry commented as he begrudgingly gave over the lighter, "giving up once vice to develop another."

Draco chuckled, his lips wrapped tightly around the cigarette that he was breathing to life. With a deep inhale, the nicotine smoke filled his lungs and brought a burning calm to his heart that had begun to beat faster than before at Harry's proximity. "Clearly you've never had a drinking problem."

"Obviously, but what the hell does that have to do with smoking?" Harry questioned as he reached out and pulled the cigarette from Draco's lips and placed it between his own with a deep inhale.

Draco's eyebrows raised as a slow trickle of smoke rose from the corner of his mouth. Harry smoked? Well, colour him surprised. He would never expect the boy-who-lived to develop such a nasty habit. Especially since his public image was nearly as important to the Ministry as the value of the Galleon. "You drink to numb the pain. Smoking's as close as you can get to that feeling without actually drinking," Draco replied before blowing the lingering smoke out into the night. "Since when do you smoke, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, his tongue darting across his bottom lip as he held out the cigarette for Draco to take. "Couple years ago… and I wouldn't go as far as to say I smoke," Harry explained. "I enjoy one on occasion."

Draco hummed in amusement, taking a slow drag from the cigarette, the embers burning bright red in response. They stayed like that for several minutes, passing the smoke between the two of them, enjoying the quiet of the night. It wasn't until the first cigarette died and a new one was lit in its place that the silence was broken.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice softer than before, trying not to disturb the peaceful silence around them.

"For what?" Draco turned his attention back to Harry, his brow furrowed.

"For helping Hermione… and me. For going to London to talk to Charlie." Harry explained, holding out the fresh cigarette for Draco to take as he blew his smoke away from them.

"There's no need to thank me, Potter. I'm doing my job," Draco reminded him, but the lie even sounded funny to himself at this point. Yes, he had received an initial payment for his services, but no money had been exchanged since then, and this was becoming much more than just work. He, gods help him, cared for both if the damned Gryffindors. He knew that if he wasn't successful in helping get Hermione clean it wasn't just her that was going to be affected. Harry would be hurt too, and Draco wasn't willing to let that happen.

"But you aren't. There's nothing in the contract that said you were required to threaten bodily harm to drug dealers. And there certainly wasn't anything in there about paying them off," Harry pointed out as he plucked the cigarette from Draco's lips with an small grin. "So… thank you."

Draco only responded with a roll of his eyes before waving his hand. "You paid me enough money already to cover whatever Weasley wants. Don't think I'm being chivalrous, and don't bloody tell anyone. You'll ruin _my image_ ," he teased, a slow trickle of smoke lifting from the corner of his mouth as he blew it away before offering the cigarette back to Harry. Once the wizard had taken it, he turned around so his back pressed against the railing and he could see Harry better.

With it held loosely between his thumb and index finger, Harry ashed the cigarette over the railing in preparation for taking another hit when it suddenly dawned on him. He had only paid Draco the initial deposit. Per their contract, he was supposed to have given him half of the remaining balance nearly two days ago. "Oh fuck. I was supposed to have paid again by now." Harry set the cigarette down on the railing, making sure it wasn't going to roll to the ground before he turned to face Draco head on, his left elbow resting against the wood. "I completely fucking forgot. I can owl Aurora tomorrow and ask her—"

Draco raised his hand to silence Harry, his head shaking slowly. "Stop. Don't worry about it. We've had our hands full, and it's not like I'm desperate for the Galleons. I _do_ know where you're sleeping, remember? You can just hold off until we're finished. I know you're good for it," he said.

Harry cocked his head slightly to the side, his brows lifting. "You don't want the money?"

Draco scoffed. "It's not about want or need. I have plenty in my personal vaults to get me through several decades should I suddenly decided to stop working—which I have no intention of. However, there is the simple fact that bothering your assistant will raise concern within the Ministry, and I'd rather not add that to my list of problems to navigate while Granger should still be our sole focus. So no, I suppose I don't want the money… right now." It wasn't entirely a lie. Draco did intend to collect the debt at some point, but as the days wore on, staying in this cottage with both Harry and Granger was feeling less like a business transaction and more like a moral obligation.

"Whatever you say, Draco," Harry said, doing his best to level the amusement from his voice. Just as he reached out to retrieve the cigarette from the railing where he left it, Draco's fingers moved, obviously with the same intention. As their fingers brushed against one another, the magic like an electrical current that had passed between them before was back. This time though, the magic that sparked between them didn't just feel like a tingle, but rather like he'd just put his hand on a hot iron. Harry gasped, and he froze, physically unable to pull his hand back from Draco's. His heart skipped a beat. Everything that they had just spoken about—the money, Hermione, and the Ministry—vanished, and suddenly the only thing that mattered was Draco.

It was as if the world moved in slow motion. Harry watched Draco's Adam's apple run the length of his throat as he swallowed, and when those gray eyes lifted to find his, he was done for. He would never know who made the first move this time, but seconds later, his lips crashed into Draco's. Harry's hand ran up the soft skin of Draco's arm, his fingers dancing across the Dark Mark, earning a small whine from the other man. As his hand journeyed up to the side of Draco's head, he slipped his fingers into his impossibly soft hair.

Draco tasted exactly the same as he remembered. Smokey. Forbidden. Hermione was just inside the living room and could literally walk out and see their lips locked in passion if they weren't careful, but at this point in time he didn't give a shite who saw. He'd gone years without this feeling, and he was going to be damned if it was taken away from him again so quickly.

Draco's hands found Harry's waist, his fingers curling around the hem of his cotton tee, and he pulled the wizard against him with one swift motion. Turning Harry, he pushed him against the railing until their bodies pressed together. He could feel Harry's heartbeat thundering beneath his chest, the rhythm both exciting and captivating. As Harry's nails scratched against his scalp, Draco gave a low growl in warning, his teeth nipping against the wizard's tongue before his lips left Harry's.

His right hand rose, fingers snaking into the back of Harry's thick black hair and with one forceful yank, he exposed the column of Harry's throat and earned a hiss of approval from the wizard. Draco took his time kissing and sucking at the delicate skin on the exposed neck, nibbling across his jawline, relishing the way Harry's rough stubble felt against the delicate skin of his lips. Draco pressed his hips against Harry's, taking control of the situation much like he had previously. Harry's heavy breaths, combined with the little moans of pleasure, were enough to nearly send him over the edge. It had been ages since he sought physical comfort with another. He hadn't been celibate since last being with Harry—gods no—but it had been months. Work had picked up, and he just didn't have the time nor the energy to find a worthy candidate to grace his bed. But besides that, it absolutely never felt like this with any other partner. In this moment, Harry's kiss tasted better than any drug he'd ever taken and quenched a thirst he didn't even know he'd had. While the rational side of him knew he should stop, the primal side told him he couldn't end at just a kiss.

Harry jumped, nearly climbing the railing behind him when he felt Draco's hand move from his waist to unbutton his jeans and slowly pull his zip down. As each tooth passed through the zipper, Harry swore he could feel the noise reverberate against his spine. Draco's name was a whispered plea, his hips jutting out in hopes of encouraging the wizard to move faster.

Draco only chuckled in response to Harry's need, his teeth ghosting painfully across his earlobe. "Patience was never a trait you possessed, was it?" the wizard purred into his ear, causing Harry to whimper in response as he felt Draco's index finger tease the elastic band of his boxers, tugging on the fabric and snapping it against his abdomen. "You know what I'm waiting for… say it."

"Please," Harry didn't even hesitate, already putty in the wizard's hands. He would say whatever the bloody fuck Draco wanted him to in this moment. "Please, Draco."

"Please what?" Draco growled, his left hand tightening its hold in Harry's hair, and he ground his own erect cock against the other man's hip as he dipped his index and middle finger beneath the elastic band once more.

"Please touch me."

Draco smirked against Harry's skin, the pleas sending hot thrills running down his spine. There was quite possibly nothing better in this entire world other than hearing Harry—the man who had once been the biggest thorn in his side—beg for him. Although, to be fair, he had yet to hear Granger's pleas. His mind spun out of control at that thought, instantly transporting him back to the forbidden fantasy from earlier, and all sense of composure was instantly lost. His hand dropped quickly, and his long fingers curled tightly around Harry's cock, caressing the velvet-like skin that wrapped so tightly around his engorged member.

It took them no time to find a comfortable rhythm. Harry rutting into Draco's hand like a pre-teen on a date in Hogsmeade, and Draco grinding himself against Harry's hip to relieve his own tension. His hand dropped from holding Harry's hair to cup the back of his neck, and their lips found each other once more. Draco greedily swallowed all the little noises that Harry emitted, not willing to share them with the world. This moment was his and his alone. This was a side of the Boy-Who-Lived that no one else knew, and that fact alone thrilled him.

Harry felt his balls tighten, his entire body trembling with need as his inevitable release came dangerously close. Breaking their kiss, he pressed his forehead against Draco's, but he didn't dare open his eyes. "I—I'm going to cum." He didn't know if it was a warning, or an announcement, because while he felt obligated to let the wizard know, he might actually fucking explode into a tiny thousand pieces if Draco stopped what he was doing.

Thankfully, his words only seemed to encourage the wizard, as the fingers curled around his cock tightened and the pace increased. Every muscle in his body began to tense as Draco brought him even closer to release, his hands dropped from the wizard to clutch the railing on either side of his body, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he hurdled head first into oblivion. His body trembled, and his hips gave jerky thrusts as he felt his cock pulse his release across Draco's wrist and the ground between them.

Draco's ministrations slowed, but he did not stop stroking Harry until he felt the wizard quiver with completion beneath his fingertips while he milked every last drop from Harry's cock. Tucking the softening member back inside his boxers, Draco zipped up and rebuttoned Harry's jeans before pressing a slow, sensual kiss against his mouth, taking his time to taste him once more as Harry slowly recovered.

Harry happily took the kisses, his shaking hands resting against Draco's chest, his fingers brushing small patterns across his skin through the thin black t-shirt. When his heart finally slowed to a normal pace and his mind no longer felt fogged by his orgasm, Harry reached down to Draco's waist, intent on returning the favor when the blond wizard stopped him with a single word.

"Don't."

Harry pulled back, his brow furrowing as he looked at the kiss-ruffled wizard. Didn't he want to find his own release? He could feel Draco's cock against his hip still, swollen and throbbing with need. "Why not?"

Draco ran his fingers across the length of Harry's jaw as he looked into the pair of emerald eyes that had invaded his dreams for so long. "It's fine. This isn't a tit for tat, Potter," he told the wizard in a soft whisper, pulling him up by his chin once more for a soft kiss before he took a reluctant step back from him. "It's late, and I need leave for London by nine," he explained as he stepped out of Harry's reach and turned to pick up the stack of letters that sat in his vacated chair from earlier.

"Oh… right. I forgot," Harry admitted, not moving from his reclined position against the porch railing just yet. He watched curiously as Draco collected his things, neatly stacking the letters and placing them in a purple folder. "Where do I tell her you've gone?"

Draco looked over his shoulder to Harry and he gave a small shrug. "That I've gone to take care of business in London. You can say you don't know what I'm doing if it makes it easier," Draco offered before moving to the screen door, and he paused, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he looked over his shoulder to Harry once more. "Don't do anything stupid tomorrow."

"Like what?" Harry questioned with a breath of a laughter.

"Like… leave the cottage or talk about the war. Just try to have fun tomorrow… take care of our girl."

The words lingered in the air as if they were visible. _Our_ girl. And suddenly Harry could sense a possessiveness that had not been there before. He felt his heart thump in approval, and his fingers tightened their hold on the wooden trailing, his nails digging against the soft wood. "O—okay," he responded with a small nod.

Draco's lips quirked up in the hint of a smile before he turned and pulled open the screen door. "Night, Harry." Could be heard as he moved inside before he let the screen snap closed against the house.

Harry stayed still, his eyes glued to the spot Draco had just vacated as his mind swirled with curiosity. Our girl… take care of _our girl_. What exactly did he mean by _our girl?_ Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about the possibilities of Draco feeling something for Hermione in addition to him, and for the briefest of moments, his mind wandered to think what it might be like to be with both his best friend and the boy he used to hate.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Come follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack! (& Happy Game of Thrones night to fellow watchers!)


	10. Disappear

When the morning light beckoned Hermione from her slumber, she was surprised to find herself in her bedroom. The last thing she could remember was the calming feeling of Harry's fingers against her scalp as she waited for Draco to emerge from the shower. She could only deduce she must have fallen asleep during the wait, which meant Harry likely put her in her room. The hint of a sleepy smile graced her lips as her thoughts drifted to the man in question.

Harry had always been a kind boy growing up, and it was obvious that trait had stayed with him despite the fame and fortune he'd amassed. That he was willing to literally put his life on hold in order to help her was a true testament to his character, and although she did not ask for his help, the idea of staying sober was beginning to grow on her. Especially if it meant she was allowed to continue to be a part of Harry's life once this was over.

Pushing down the quilt, Hermione rose from the bed and stretched her tired limbs. She winced as twinges of pain in her thighs and calves reminded her of yesterday's grueling hike. She moved across the room to her dresser, where she grabbed a fresh outfit for the day. Her personal wardrobe was still back at her derelict flat in Muggle London, which meant the five outfits tucked in the wardrobe had been purchased for her by Harry or Draco. Today's choice was a pair of thin black joggers and an emerald green henley. While the selection was far from something she would have normally chosen, she appreciated the simplicity the wardrobe provided. Besides, they were new and free of holes—something that could not be said about any of her clothing back home.

She moved silently to the restroom, hoping to keep her footballs light so as to not wake Harry, who tended to sleep well into mid-morning most days. After a quick shower to freshen up, Hermione piled her wet curls on the top of her head and secured them with a loose elastic band before making her way into the living room.

When she entered the room, she was surprised to find no hint of the blond wizard who normally rose with the sun. Typically, he would be seated in the living room, feet up on the coffee table with both _The Daily Prophet_ and _The Wizard's Voice_ laid out before him. He would have a cup of tea sitting on the arm of the couch with a half-filled pot resting beside his ankle. She had become so accustomed to having her morning cup beside him that a twinge of disappointment blossomed inside her chest.

With a tilted head, she looked around the room, trying to find any sort of clue that he had been through this room already. The kettle was untouched on the stove, and the floral teapot still sat in the drying rack beside the sink. Had he slept in? That seemed about as unlikely as making a hippogriff laugh, but he had most definitely not been in the living room this morning.

Turning on her heel, Hermione moved back down the hallway to the door that sat opposite of her own, and before she could second guess her judgement, she gave a sharp rap against the soft wood before opening the door with a tentative "Hello?"

The room was similar to her own. A full sized bed ran under the length of a single window. Thin, lace curtains did little to shield the sun rays that cast patterns across the room. A large black trunk sat at the foot of the bed, the padlocks in place on the brass latches. A single armchair sat opposite of the bed, and a small worn writing desk was tucked in the corner.

She took a slow step into the room, her hand frozen on the cold metal of the door knob. His bed was pristinely made. His folders tidy on the desk. There was no sign of him actually being in this room beyond his personal items that were left inside. He was gone—but seeing as his things were still there, the soft sting of him not letting her know of his departure didn't hurt as bad as the thought of him leaving for forever. She knew it was silly to feel upset about his disappearance, as it wasn't like he was obligated to let her know about his affairs, but she had grown accustomed to his presence. Hell, she might even admit to enjoying his company if pressed—but only when he didn't force her to traipse through the bloody forest in some sick pursuit of physical health.

She backed out of the room cautiously, not wanting her presence to be detected in case Draco felt like her looking in his room was some sort of invasion of his privacy. Her lips pursed when she turned on her heel after shutting the bedroom door, debating what she was to do now that her morning would not be filled with the comfortable silence of the blond's company. She shuffled down the short hallway, her fingers playing with the cuffed sleeves of her henley, and as she passed the door to Harry's room, her eyes lingered on the bright light that seeped out from the space between the bottom and the floor.

She came to a slow stop before doubling back and opening up his door. Unlike in Draco's room, she did not feel it necessary to announce her entry. Having spent numerous occasions living in the same area for extended periods of time, she felt more comfortable barging in. Even after all these years apart, she found herself falling into the easy rapport they once had.

Harry was asleep—which didn't surprise her in the least—and sprawled out across the full size bed like an overgrown starfish. His quilt only covered him from the waist down, which left the muscled expanse of his back visible. Gently closing the door behind her, Hermione leaned back against the thin wood, a soft smile falling on her lips as she watched Harry sleep, the rise and fall of his back beckoning her to run a comforting hand across his skin.

She knew technically she shouldn't be in his room with him—let alone with the door closed. It was one of Draco's numerous rules about her recovery. Separate Rooms. Working out. No contact with the outside world. The list felt eternally long and rather smothering considering she was a grown witch and should very well be allowed to do what she pleased. Besides, he wasn't even at the cottage to remind her not to wander into Harry's room. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

Crossing the tiny room in three strides, Hermione crawled into the open space beside Harry on the mattress, carefully moving his arm from the pillow as she slipped under the covers beside her oldest friend. Pulling the warm blanket up over their shoulders, Hermione snuggled in close to Harry's back before winding her arms around his middle, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade. Nearly instantly a familiar warmth set in. Starting in the centre of her check, it worked its way across her skin like waves in the ocean, slowly lapping across her body until she was completely submerged in the consuming warmth.

Harry stirred, his hand moving to cover hers and intertwining on his stomach. "'Mione?" he questioned, sleep still thick in his voice as he looked blindly over his shoulder to try and see who was behind him, although he already knew. Beyond the instant spark that filled his soul at her touch, this was not something new to their relationship. Nearly eleven years ago while Horcrux hunting, they had found themselves in this very same position. It started out as a means to stay warm during the dead of winter but eventually developed into a routine when one needed comfort. The unspoken agreement continued until the end of the war, and just like everything else that they had grown to know and love about their friendship, it simply vanished.

Careful not to knock her in the head with his elbow, Harry rolled on his back and wrapped the petite witch in his arms, gently pulling her closer until she lay in the crook of his shoulder with her head on his chest. One hand stayed on her back, two fingers trailing up and down her spine through her shirt while his other hand moved behind his head.

Hermione laid in his arms for a while, silent and wrapped in Harry's warm embrace. No words needed to be spoken between them. As it had always been in their friendship, they both innately knew what the other needed. Comfort. Reassurance. Love. All of the things that Draco was trying to get her to verbally express over the last week that she had stubbornly refused to say. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to explain how vulnerable she felt. How bloody heartbroken she was when Harry and Ron disappeared from her life. How alone she felt for so bloody long. She'd spent years holding her breath all day as a means to mask her pain only to gasp for air at night because the reality had set in; she was once again fucking alone. Unloved. Unwanted.

Putting those feelings to words meant it was real. It meant admitting her pain and weakness. She wasn't ready to talk about her feelings. They were better kept inside where she could lock them deep inside her heart because that's where they felt safe. She could internalize her trauma and her abandonment issues until there was nothing left but the fake smile she wore in front of the camera for so many years.

But under Harry's touch—the physical touch she was supposed to avoid—she could forget the pain. She felt grounded. For the first time in many years, she felt like she could fucking _breathe_ again. The thoughts still lingered in the back of her mind, their soft whispers haunting her, but in his arms she could begin to forget.

"Draco's not going to be happy." Harry broke the silence between them, his fingertips running across her shoulder blades and up onto her neck where he toyed with the tiny baby curls at the base of her head. "If he finds you in here—that is. Although to be fair, he's generally unhappy about _something._ "

Hermione smiled against his skin before tilting her head up to rest her chin just over his heart. "He's not unhappy, he's just… aloof." Why she was defended Draco was beyond her, but she felt like someone had to since he wasn't here to correct Harry himself. "But it doesn't matter. He's not here. I was actually coming to see if you knew where he went before I got distracted by your warm bed."

All at once, the night's events on the porch sifted to the forefront of his mind. The kisses, Draco's hand on his cock, and his syrupy voice demanding in his ear. Harry fought to keep a flush from his cheek as his hand moved across his hair and over his face as he exhaled deeply. "Yeah, sorry. I must have forgotten," he lied. "He had some business in London he said he needed to take care of. Something about a new client."

Hermione's brows furrowed as she watched Harry purposely avoid her gaze. She might not have had the pleasure of being in his inner circle for the past ten years, but she could still bloody well spot when he was lying. Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, she debated asking him for the truth, pressing him for the real whereabouts of their fearless leader. But she knew that if she pushed too hard, Harry might want to know why she cared. Would she like to know where Draco was? Of course, but was she ready to try and explain why his absence bothered her so? Absolutely not.

Instead, she laid her head on Harry's chest, pressing her ear to his heart and listening to its steady rhythm that calmed the wild energy building up in her soul. "Since he's gone, we can stay like this all day, right?" she whispered as she walked two fingers across his abdomen, moving from one beauty mark to the next.

Harry looked down, a lopsided grin pulling on the corners of his mouth as he watched her, grateful for the change in subject. "I mean, it doesn't necessarily sound like a bad idea," he began. "However, I think it might make eating unnecessarily difficult."

* * *

"Mister Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Charlie said sarcastically as he looked up from his ledger book, the crisp white swan-feathered quill held precariously between two fingers.

Draco didn't bother to respond as he crossed the room with two quick strides, his right hand curled tightly around the handle of the heavy tote that hung at his side. Weasley's security goon had been reluctant to let him in without an appointment, but once he'd had a quick peek inside the bag, he was more than willing to let Draco disrupt Charlie's work.

He stopped two feet in front of the desk, not wanting to actually touch anything in this disgusting room if he could avoid it, and he tossed the leather tote to Charlie. The sound of the bag slapping against the well-worn desk reverberated off the walls of the dilapidated office space with a heavy thunk. Grey eyes lifted from the perturbed wizard, glancing around the room as his upper lip pulled up in a sneer. He had never been here before, but he already knew this room well. He'd seen countless stacks of photos with Hermione in it. Bent over the very desk before him or straddling the rolling chair Charlie sat it. On one occasion, he'd even taken her against the wall. His skin crawled as his eyes traveled between each location, and he fought the urge to withdraw his wand and hex the redhead to oblivion for what he had done to Hermione.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Charlie snapped, standing from the squeaky roller chair as he eyed the dragon hide tote skeptically. His shoulder length hair was pulled back in a low ponytail with a thick cord today, but in his agitation, strands of the fiery locks drifted to frame his face.

"It looks like a bag," Draco answered plainly. He could see a flash of anger flash in Charlie's eyes at his response, but his concern for the wizard's feelings was rather low on his list of priorities right now. "I know you're not too familiar with finery, considering your upbringing, but I would have thought you would know something as simple as luggage, Weasley."

Charlie seethed, his fingers curling into fists as his side. "Cut the shite, Malfoy. You know full well what I bloody meant. Why did you toss it on my desk?" Charlie snapped.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to silence his sharp tongue. He needed to remain calm, and more importantly, he needed Charlie to remain calm so that he might be agreeable to the impending proposition. Lifting a hand from his side, Draco gave a slow sweeping gesture to the tote before sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Open it up and you'll see."

Charlie hesitated, his distrust for Draco evident in his narrowed gaze. Turning to his bodyguard, Charlie waited for the burly wizard to indicate the package was okay before he moved to open the bag.

Draco couldn't help but see the irony in this situation. This man literally wrestled with dragons at one point in his life, but he was leery about a bloody leather tote. If this was how he reacted, then it was no wonder he had a shabby office in a seedy part of Muggle London. He clearly lacked any sort of skills required to run a business—let alone a bloody drug empire.

He waited in silence, watching as Charlie opened the tote to reveal what lay inside. Money. Specifically, American Dragot. The silver octagonal coins were bound in stacks of twenty, wrapped in thick ribbons of spider's silk. Draco had charmed the bag to counteract the heavy weight the coinage would have carried, but magic could only do so much to goblin made coin. He watched as Charlie pulled out stack after stack of the Dragot, letting them drop on his desk with heavy thunks in pursuit of the bottom of the tote. When none was found easily, the redhead turned his eyes back to Draco, his brows raised in silent question.

"Six thousand Dragot, which converts to… roughly five thousand Galleons," Draco said plainly. "Feel free to count, but I assure you it's all there."

Charlie picked up one of the bricks of coins, untying the spider's silk twine, and he let the coins spill across his desk. The precious metal clinked together as he spread them out to verify their authenticity. "So I guess the rumors about you running away to America were true, then?" Charlie questioned, and when Draco gave no response, he let out a small tutting noise from the back of his throat. "You disappear for a decade and come back with a bag full of money. So what the hell are you looking to buy? Dragon's Breath? One of my girls—hell, for this kind of coin, all of them? What's your poison, Malfoy?"

Draco watched as Charlie lifted one of the Dragot to his mouth, where he bit into the side of the coin to make sure it was real silver. Grey eyes rolled at the show of distrust. Draco might be many things, but he had not fallen so far from society as to deal in counterfeit money. "I intend to buy your word, Weasley."

"Excuse me?"

"Your. _Word_." He punctuated crisply. "I think five thousand Galleons is plenty, don't you? Considering what type of business you deal in, I think it's more than fair."

Charlie tossed the coin on his desk before sitting down, his arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head to the side. "My word? You want to give me six thousand Dragot for my bloody word?"

"That is my intention."

Charlie let out a hollow laugh, leaning back in his chair, and he kicked his boots up on his desk while he let his head tip back. "Alright Malfoy. What the hell do you want me to promise you? That I won't share your bloody secrets about your school days? You've got no problem from me there, but there are a lot more people you're going to have to pay off if you intend for your shady past to be swept under the rug."

"I have never once hid from my mistakes, Weasley. Some of us choose to rise above, while others clearly like to wallow in the muck of society." He let his eyes drift around the room to make his point before he looked back to the still amused redhead. "No, I don't need that. What I need is for you to leave Hermione Granger alone."

At once, Charlie's laughter stopped, and his feet hit the floor as he leaned forward in his chair. "Come again?"

"Leave Granger alone. Disappear from her life. Don't fire call her. Don't bloody owl her. Don't even fucking think about her. That coin is yours if you give me your word you'll leave her alone." Draco stepped closer to the desk, his spine straightening.

Charlie ran his tongue along his teeth under his lips, his fingers curling tightly around his arms. The Weasley temper that Draco was familiar with having gone to school with both Ron and Ginny became immediately apparent as Charlie's cheeks began to blossom red. "You have her?"

"Do you accept or not?" Draco questioned, purposefully ignoring his question.

"Where is she?" Charlie demanded.

"It's none of your business. Just tell me if you agree or not," Draco said. He felt his own temper begin to rise as he watched Charlie stand from the chair and lean across his desk in a weak attempt to intimidate him. Charlie was easily two stone larger than he was, but Draco knew he was weak. The injuries from his time at the dragon sanctuary had become too much to bear over the years, hence the wizard's new line of work.

"Did she send you? Tell her to fucking tell me herself if she wants to be left alone," Charlie snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not going to be bought, Malfoy. Hermione is _mine_ —"

"She is _no one's_ fucking property, Weasley. Let alone _yours,_ " Draco interrupted. Leaning forward, he planted his hands firmly against the desk. "She doesn't need someone like you in her bloody life."

"And you determined that, did you?" Charlie said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're a bloody Death Eater. You fucking piece of scum."

"Tell me something I don't already know, you bloody prat." Draco shook his head as he took two steps back from the desk, his eyes rolling. "I can fucking own my past, Charlie. Can you say the same for what you've become?"

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

"You're a bloody drug dealer! And apparently you've expanded into prostitution. Your nose is far from fucking clean," Draco replied, his lips pursing.

"Hermione didn't seem to have a problem with my job, seeing as she kept coming around to suck my cock." Charlie slowly moved around his desk, a loose-hipped swagger accompanying his cocky tone.

"You got her hooked on drugs, you bloody wanker. She would have sucked off your troll of a guard if you promised her enough fucking product." Draco jutted his thumb to the burly wizard who still stood by the door. "No offense, mate. You're fucking massive," Draco told the gruff guard over his shoulder before turning back to Charlie. "Look, you either want the bloody money or you don't. But those are my conditions. If you accept, Granger is not to be your concern anymore."

Charlie leaned back on his desk, his long legs crossing at his ankles. "No deal. She's my friend. I'm not abandoning her. She _needs_ me."

"She was your fuck toy, Weasley. Don't disillusion yourself into thinking it was anything more," Draco replied coldly before reaching into his jacket pocket and withdrawing his wand. He felt the guard behind him tense, his hulking body lurching forward. "Calm down, I'm collecting my money."

"No wands!" the guard snapped, already moving across the room towards him.

Draco let out an irritated sigh, and he flicked his wrist towards the coins spread across Charlie's desk. They began to stack on top of one another before the spider's silk ribbon wrapped around them to create a brick once more. "Alright, alright. I'll put it away," Draco relented, sliding his wand back into his pocket before the guard could act.

Moving next to Charlie, Draco reached out and put the bricks of coins back in his bag before beginning to pull the heavy tote from his desk, but just as he was about to turn, he felt a hand land on his wrist preventing him from moving further.

"Double," Charlie intoned, his cornflower blue eyes glued to the bag in Draco's hand. "Bring me double… and I'll leave her alone."

Twelve thousand Dragot. He was already over what Harry had given him as a deposit with just what he had in this bag, but the bloody arsehole wanted double?! The logical side of his brain begged him to tell Charlie to piss off. To remind him how much bloody money he was actually offering and to stop being stupid. But his heart overrode. Twelve thousand Dragots was a lot, but making sure Charlie Weasley was out of her life forever was worth it. Her sobriety meant more than bloody money. He would bleed his vaults dry if that's what it cost to make sure she never had to so much as look at this bloody wanker ever again.

"Forever?" Draco clarified, his voice low and stern, letting the wizard know that part of the deal was not up for negotiation. When Charlie nodded, Draco released his hold on the bag, and he wrenched his arm free from Charlie's grip. "I'll make arrangements for the coin to be brought to you."

Charlie reached out, slowly pushing the bag back to the centre of his desk as he gave Draco a nod in agreement.

Draco spun on his heel, his heart pounding wildly beneath his chest as he moved to the door. Just as he pulled it open, Charlie called out to him.

"She'll come to me, Malfoy," Charlie told him from his slouched position against his desk. The hint of a predatory leer gleamed in his eyes. "She always does."

Draco took a slow breath, using it to centre his emotions before he yanked the door wide open. "We'll see, Weasley." Letting the words linger in the air between them, Draco left the office and quickly exited the shabby building. Once on the street, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew his small silver Weasley Wizard Wheezes mobile. Scrolling through his list of contacts as he made his way down the road, he found the name he was looking for and hastily pressed the green button before lifting the receiver to his ear. "Chrysanthemum. I need you to work with our contacts at Gringotts," he said crisply as he moved through the crowded street. "Charlie Weasley requires an additional payment, and I need it to be delivered by the end of the day."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _Alpha: Disenchantedglow_  
 _Beta: Ravenslight_

I know I just updated, but I've been on a good writing kick so you're getting this next chapter early! Thank you all for your lovely reviews. They really do inspire me to keep writing this story.

Come follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack. If you have any questions, or just want to send me some ask's don't hesitate! my inbox is always open.


	11. Rude Awakening

Her day was amazing—no, better than amazing. It was absolutely perfect. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so relaxed. She'd spent the day lounging around the house with Harry, alternating between reading the old paperbacks that lined the bookshelf in the living room, and putting together a puzzle that they had found was missing pieces only after they'd nearly completed it.

She had almost forgotten how easy her friendship was with Harry. There was no animosity. No judgement. Harry didn't talk to her about the past ten years and demand she revisit topics she would very much like to avoid. There had been a reason he was her best friend for so long, and it was obvious today more than ever that she missed this friendship for more than one reason. When she was with him, she wasn't alone, but better. She felt like she belonged. She felt safe. She felt like she was wanted and appreciated. Which is why, no matter how much she wanted another drink, or just one more pill, she'd decided she wasn't going to cave to her darker desires. She needed to stay sober, because having Harry in her life was more important than any temporary relief her vices provided.

Humming softly along with the muggle song that crackled from the ancient looking radio on the window sill, Hermione stood in front of the stovetop shaking a small pot over the flame to evenly heat the oiled popcorn kernels inside. She wore a cotton pair of pajama shorts that sat low on her hips, and a black cotton tee. She'd changed into her pajamas while Harry showered, opting to forgo her undergarments. If Draco were at the cottage she might reconsider, but this was Harry. The boy she'd grown up with. The one she'd spent summers with at the Burrow and Grimmauld Place.

Lost in music, and popping their snack for the evening, Hermione didn't hear when Harry approached from behind. A dingy hand towel looped around his neck, catching the stray drops of water from his disheveled hair. A lopsided grin pulled at her cheeks as he watched her sway to the unfamiliar song. Leaning back against the kitchen table, Harry crossed his arms over his bare chest. She looked so much like the girl he'd grown up with in this moment. The girl he loved. Happy. Carefree. Healthy even. As he watched her sway and hum along with the music, the tingle of magic he'd felt spark between them began to ignite. The low embers beginning in the center of his chest, warning him of his draw to her. Rationally, Harry knew he should ignore them. That now was not the time. That whatever he felt between them was purely chemistry and he valued his friendship more than that—but acting impulsively tended to be a Gryffindor trait that he held in spades.

Once the kernels finished popping, she gave the pot one last shake before setting it on a cool burnerand twisting the knob to the off position to extinguish the flame. Moving across the kitchen towards the cupboard where the bowls were kept, she did a playful little twirl, thinking she was alone, but mid-spin she caught sight of Harry and gasped, nearly stumbling over her own feet as she quickly attempted to halt her dance. "H-Harry!"

His head tipped back in laughter before he pushed off the table, moving into the kitchen. "No, no. Please continue," he encouraged as he approached, pulling the towel from around his neck and he tossed it onto the countertop behind her. "You're quite good. I'd nearly forgotten."

"How long have you been there?" Hermione could feel a blush creep across her cheeks as she nervously tucked her hair behind her ears.

Harry shrugged innocently, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jersey shorts. "Not long." He lied, and when she gave him a narrowed stare that was reminiscent of the one that would often receive from their former head of house, he couldn't help but laugh. "Okay fine. Long enough to know that dancing is not a given talent."

Hermione's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in shock from his comment. "Oh? Wow, okay Harry. I seem to distinctly remember you were no Fred Astaire." She defended, pursing her lips together playfully.

"Is that a challenge?" Harry cocked a brow at his friend and when Hermione burst into a fit of laughter at his taunt, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her to him in one fluid motion. "Prepare to eat crow, Miss Granger."

"Oooh no," Hermione pressed her free hand against Harry's bare chest. Despite the thrill of magic that thrummed between them as their bodies touched, she pushed away the desire and tried to move away as she shook her head. "Harry, no bloody way."

His hand found her waist, his fingers curling around her hip bone as he lifted their intertwined hands. "No way out now. You have to dance with me." He began to maneuver them around the small kitchen in time with the fast pace of the muggle song, but only seconds into their dance, the mood began to shift as the song transitioned into a slow melody. Instead of pulling away, Harry's hand moved from her hip and onto the small of her back, gently pulling her in until their hips touched. The fast trot slowed to a crawl, and just like that night in the Forest of Dean, he looked down into her eyes as he swayed them across the kitchen.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Under his touch she felt the thrills of magic swirl between them as if tangible, weaving between her body and his until it felt like bits of their soul intermixed. She could feel his heartbeat thump wildly against her chest, where she was certain he could feel her own. Whatever this pull was between them was beyond friendship. She had assumed it was one sided, but the way he looked at her now was not like one would look at their friend. It was more. It had to be more.

Without warning, or reason, Hermione leaned up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his just as she did nearly two months ago in Grimmauld Place. Except this time, there was so alcohol fueling her decision, nothing to hide behind. She wanted this. She wanted him to know how she felt. How she wanted to be sober—for him—because of him. Her right hand went to his cheek, sliding across the stubble as she cupped his face.

Harry knew better. Draco would fucking kill him if he ever found out, but the moment his mouth met hers none of it mattered anymore. His hand on her back pressed her closer and his other hand dropped hers to slide his fingers into the back of her hair as he returned the kiss that was far from friendly. The fire inside his belly roared to life, the flames licking at the deepest parts of his soul as his tongue parted her lips and delved into her mouth.

The magical feeling that coursed through his veins made his heart thump in an uneven rhythm. While it was similar to what he'd felt between himself and Draco the night before, with Hermione the feeling was slightly different. Distinctly her. Where Draco's touch felt like learning new magic—hot, and thrilling, Hermione's felt like home. A soothing comfort that brought a sense of peace to his own inner turmoil with his fame. It brought light to his darkest fears, and brought an immediate calm to his thundering heartbeat. She had been away for so long he had nearly forgotten the way their magic mingled. Instead of the push and pull of fighting for dominance, it seemed to flow together like water between rocks. Each one distinct, and powerful in its own right, but able to flow together to create a beautiful landscape. It caressed a part of him he didn't even know existed. The need for a family. The need for acceptance. The need to belong. She was all that to him and so much more, but most importantly, she was _his._

Hermione shivered as his hands snaked across her waist, slipping beneath the soft cotton shirt to run across the skin on her back as he stroked his fingers up her spine. She allowed him to take the lead and guide her across the kitchen until the back of her thighs pressed against the kitchen table. Her hands moved over his bare chest, fingers sliding through the smattering of soft black hair before running over his shoulders. She wanted to touch him. To learn every dip and curve to his matured body. She wanted to lick the scars she knew he possessed and taste him.

It had been so long since she'd felt like this—loved, wanted, desired. Sure, Charlie had wanted her, but not in the same way Harry's kiss felt. This was far from merely craving physical gratification. No, in this kiss she could feel that Harry wanted _her_. All of her. All of the broken pieces. All of the pain. All of the heartache and misery that lay trapped inside her soul. He kissed her like he wanted her despite all her flaws and shortcomings. He kissed her like he wanted to possess her mind, body and soul.

His hands feathered down her body, ghosting along her curves, leaving a trail of fire in their wake until she felt his fingers grip the backs of her thighs. In one fluid motion Harry picked her up and pulled her body against his tightly. Her thighs wound around his waist, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs while her arms tightened their hold around his neck. She knew she should stop, but the fire she had ignited with the first brush of her lips against his was too strong. She tilted her head to the side, deepening their kiss as she clung to his taut body.

His tongue met with hers, brushing across the roof of her mouth and teeth in a way that left her light headed and reeling. Heat pooled between her legs as their bodies melded together, and as his hands readjusted their grip from her thighs to her arse, she felt the distinct brush of his rigid manhood through his shorts and all reason to stop was instantly lost. Her body instinctively rocked against his, brushing her core against him, his mouth swallowed up her soft mews in response to the electrifying rush.

When Harry's mouth left hers, she immediately whimpered at the loss of his lips, her head craning up to find his kiss once more, but instead of returning his mouth to hers, his head dipped low and pressed along her jawline, working slowly down her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed, head falling back to expose more of the sensitive skin for him to sample.

She wasn't sure how they got there—or even when Harry had started walking—but the sound of a door being kicked shut was quickly followed by him setting her on a bed. The mattress springs squeaked as they absorbed her weight, her hands dropping to run across the aged quilt on either side of her. She watched as Harry looked down at her, his emerald eyes half-lidded with lust, his tongue running across his kiss swollen lips. From her vantage point on the bed, she took a moment to admire his figure. He was fit. Bulky even. His muscles were taut, his chest heaving with each labored breath as he looked down at her. It was almost as if he was waiting for a sign, anything that might indicate she wanted him to continue.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip and she pushed up on the mattress until she was sitting up. Her hands moved to the bottom hem of her top and with no hesitation the cotton tee was pulled from her body and dropped, forgotten, beside her on the bed. Her skin prickled as the rush of cool air wafted over her body. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around her rib cage, hoping to block the large pink and purple scar that marred her skin with a permanent reminder of her mortality. She didn't mind most of the scars that littered her body from the war, not after eleven plus years of wearing them. The ones on her shoulders and arms from shrapnel during the final battle never bothered her. They looked like starbursts, reminding her that through their sacrifice they had created light. She didn't even really mind the one on her neck where Bellatrix's cursed blade pierced her skin. It wasn't particularly pretty, but it healed cleanly, running along her clavicle like a decorative tattoo. But the one on her side was different. It was large, nearly covering her whole side, and still appeared angry and fresh. The healers who pulled the curse from her body told her parents it would always appear that way. When cast with such hatred, there were some things even healing magic couldn't fix.

Her tongue ran across her bottom lip nervously, watching as Harry's eyes seemed to soften on her. Her heart stuttered, fearing his sympathy.

"Merlin," Harry breathed as he took a step forward. "You're beautiful."

"W-What?" Hermione stammered, watching as he crawled onto the mattress on his knees and maneuvered between her parted thighs. His hand curled around her wrist, gently tugging her arm away until he could see all of her. His fingers moved up her forearm, working slowly across her skin until he touched the purple curse, softly at first, as if afraid to hurt her.

"You're beautiful, 'Mione." Harry whispered, his eyes flicking between her face and her body. "Don't...Don't cover yourself."

Hermione nodded, her mouth going dry as she leaned into his touch intuitively. Every sweep of his fingers broke down the carefully constructed walls within her until nothing remained but rubble. Reaching out, Hermione guided Harry's mouth back to hers, her hand resting on his stubbled jaw.

With his body over hers, she lowered herself down to the mattress, pulling Harry with her until his body was seated perfectly between her parted thighs. The thin jersey of his shorts did little to hide his arousal as his hips settled against hers. She felt his hand on her scar move across her skin like fiendfyre, igniting every nerve ending on its way to her breast. His fingers brushed across the soft skin, caressing her in the most intimate way possible before he gently swept his thumb over her pebbled areola, pulling a low moan from her throat.

His mouth moved from hers once more, working down her neck and across her shoulder where he placed open mouth kisses across the scar. His tongue pressing against the raised scar tissue, lavishing it with love and affection as he kneaded her breast. His fingers plucking at her nipple like a harpist would a string. Her body sung in response, his name a whisper in her breath as she arched off the bed, her fingers carding through the thick mane of black hair atop his head as he worked down her body.

Harry moved lower, trailing open mouthed kisses across each scar and freckle on her abdomen, paying particular attention to the curse scar on her side. His nose nuzzled softly against her ribs as his fingers hooked into the sides of her cotton pajama bottoms and he whispered her name as a means to ask permission to remove them. She couldn't trust herself to talk, let alone articulate that she wanted this more than anything else in the world, so instead she pressed her feet into the mattress on either side of his knees and lifted her bum off the bedding, assisting him the best way she could as he stripped her bare.

Harry took his time, kissing across her lower belly as he slid the cotton shorts from her skin. Tossing the offending article of clothing over his shoulder, Harry nipped at her hip bone, his teeth raising the skin in their wake as he looked up at her, emerald eyes half lidded as they ran over her body, drinking in the image of her naked on the bed.

Biting her bottom lip, Hermione kept her knees together, her hands trembling as her fingers curled around the quilt. She watched his hands as they traced lazy circles at her ankles, slowly working their way up her legs until they reached her closed knees. He slipped his hands between them, his fingertips pressing gently against the supple skin as he slowly parted her thighs.

She didn't need to look down to know she was wet. She'd felt the rush of heat during their kiss, and under his touch. She knew what he saw was a glistening patch of trimmed curls covering her core. But his reaction to her nakedness only spurred her own desire to see him the same way. She watched his teeth sink into his bottom lip, the pupils in his brilliant eyes growing until they nearly shown black, and although she couldn't hear anything over the sound of her own deafening heartbeat, she swore she saw a curse on his lips. His hands twitched against her skin, trembling ever so slightly.

"You're so bloody perfect," Harry finally managed after what felt like an eternity of him staring at her laid out before him like some Grecian painting. Her half-dry curls spread out across the pillow, having lost the elastic tie somewhere between his bedroom and the living room.

A deep crimson blush crept down her cheeks and across her chest. Pushing up on one elbow, Hermione reached out and wrapped her hand around his jaw, her thumb sliding across his stubbled cheek as she pulled him to her. "Shut up and kiss me."

Harry complied with a crooked smile and a wicked glint in his eyes. He allowed her to lead the moment, revelling in the touch of her skin against his as she pulled him down until his body hovered over hers. His lips found hers once more, and when his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, asking permission to deepen their caress , she opened, moaning softly when he stroked his tongue against hers.

Her hands moved across his skin, through the coarse black hair on his chest, down the firm muscles of his abdomen and trailing through the thin line of hair that ran from just under his navel to beneath his trouser line. Her fingers curled into the elastic band of his shorts on either side of his hips and she pushed down, nudging the fabric lower until she could hook her feet into the jersey and push it the rest of the way down his body. As his cock sprung free of its confines it fell against her hip. Hot and heavy, she felt a new wave of desire rush through her body which responded by ushering a new gush of heat between her thighs.

Her right hand moved up his thigh and across to his manhood where her fingers curled around the thick shaft. Her hand moved up and down, testing his length and size as best she could from this angle. Breaking their kiss, Harry pressed his forehead against hers, his shaky breath hot and heady across her lips as he whispered her name in praise.

Her knees pressed against his waist as she moved into position, her body opening for his like they had done this a thousand times before. She guided his cock to her slit and brushed him through her damp folds, before guiding him to her entrance.

He didn't hesitate or ask for permission. Both things she was grateful for, because had he second guessed what they were about to do she might break into a million pieces. Harry pressed inside her in one slow fluid motion. She felt full, stretched wonderfully tight around his cock and instantly his magic mixed with her own. The comforting calm of their past together providing the basis for the undeniable love that flowed between them. Years might have separated her from Harry, but deep inside her the feelings had always lay dormant, waiting for him to act upon them.

Harry rocked into her body until his hip bones pressed tightly against hers and he was fully seated within her body. He paused, her heartbeat matching his own, perfectly in sync as they lay silent except for the sound of their heavy breaths.

Hermione's hands moved to curl around the back of his neck as she looked up. His eyes were half lidded, but inside what she saw stole her breath away. Love. Devotion. Dedication. He didn't see her shame, or scars. He didn't judge her for what she had become over the past ten years. Instead, he saw the person deep inside that she had always been. He saw the person she was going to become with his and Draco's help.

Keeping his forehead resting against hers, Harry planted his arm on the mattress beside her head, his fingers mixing into her curls, while his other hand held her hip, his thumb stroking softly against the sharp bone. Harry withdrew his cock slowly until just the head of him remained inside her before he pressed back in, filling her completely once more.

The rhythm they developed was slow, intimate. He took his time learning her body, and twisting his hips until he found a particular spot inside her that made her gasp with each breathy moan.

Hermione rolled her hips into his, encouraging his efforts. Tipping her head back against the pillows as he seemed to double his efforts on that spot inside her, the sweet sound of their bodies joining filled the room, mixing with their moans until all she could think about was him. The way he wasn't just fucking her. No, Harry was making love to her, something she had never experienced before. Every sweep of his tongue, or thrust from his hips wasn't about finding release, but rather bringing her towards that goal with him—because of him.

"I'm close," She moaned, her nails biting against his shoulders as she felt that slow wind up of tension inside her near its peak. She could feel his body tense at the words, and his left leg trembled as he dropped his hand from her hip to where their bodies met.

His thumb brushed through her folds, finding her clit with a practiced ease and he worked small circles across the most sensitive part of her body in time with his thrusts, encouraging her to topple over that precipice she was so precariously teetering on.

Her body locked tight, her legs pressing painfully tight against his hips, her breath caught in her throat before everything exploded. She could feel his magic physically seep into hers as she cried out his name, sobbing through an orgasm so intense she could feel the it thrum in her toes. She felt transcendent in his arms, as if he let her go in this moment she would simply float away with the magic that poured from her body.

With three more thrusts, she felt Harry join her. His cock pulsed deep within her body as he spilled his seed, his own body trembling. His lips brushed across her temple, damp with her sweat and his. She clung to him, unwilling to part with the comforting weight of his body on her as they road out the high of their orgasm until they seemed to settled back down to earth.

Harry eased himself from within her, and rolled onto the mattress beside her, holding her close as he caught his breath. Pulling back to look down at her, Harry tipped her chin up with a gentle nudge from his fingers before he stroked the back of his knuckles across her cheek. "Hi," he broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. As if afraid the noise would ruin the moment between them.

"Hi," She returned, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Her hand rested over his heart, letting its beat tattoo the memory into her skin. She wanted to remember this moment for forever. The way he looked. Flushed, but sedated. The way his sweaty brow matted his black fringe. The way his eyes sparkled in the soft light, but most importantly, She wanted to remember the way he looked at her like she was the most important person in the world. And yet, despite all of this—how utterly perfect this moment had been between them, deep down a tiny part of her felt incomplete. Like something—or someone was missing.

* * *

The stars still twinkled in the sky when Draco parked the rental car outside the cottage. The sun was just beginning to raise, only the hints of pink and purple morning rays peaked over the horizon. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, opting to return to the cottage after the transaction with Charlie was completed. He told himself it was concern about his assignment, but part of him knew the truth. He missed them.

He missed the way Hermione would sit next to him with a book each morning while he read the paper. The way she would clink her spoon against her teacup precisely three times before she would pop it into her mouth to lick off any remaining droplets of tea, an act that would make his mother clutch her proverbial pearls in horror. He missed the way she would bite her lip while concentrating, or even the way she would avoid his questions by snapping back at him—still unafraid to piss him off after all these years.

And Harry? Gods, as much as he hated to admit it, he fucking missed Potter. He missed the way he'd wake up with his hair mussed just so. The way he left a trail of mugs and cups around the bloody flat like a damn fire slug. He missed the way he'd hum while he cooked, and that lopsided grin that made his insides clench and his resolve waiver.

Shutting the passenger door, Draco draped the leather overnight bag over his shoulder as he moved up to the front door of the cottage. With his wand in hand, he whispered a soft " _Alohamora."_ Before stowing the hawthorne wand in his trouser pocket.

The cottage was still dark inside, not that he expected anyone to be up at this hour. He knew from experience that Hermione and Harry both were keen to sleep well into mid morning if given the chance. Shutting and locking the front door behind him, Draco began across the room towards the hallway.

As he passed through he couldn't help but notice the mess left out. Yesterday's tea still sat on the coffee table, and although he couldn't be certain from this distance, but it appeared that a large pot sat on the stove and bowls on the counter top. His nose wrinkled in irritation. As endearing as their shortcomings where, he was going to make a point to mention it to the pair once he woke later that day. A tidy house was far from a requirement of the program, but a clean place helped provide sanity during recovery. Less physical clutter usually meant less mental clutter in his person experience.

Moving out of the living room, Draco walked silently down the hallway, his erumpent hide loafers snapping against the worn wood flooring. Opening his bedroom door, Draco set his bag down just to the right of the entry before he turned and moved across the hallway towards Harry's door. While he didn't make a habit of entering a wizard's room uninvited, the need to know how the day went in his absence was stronger than his desire to give Harry some space.

As he passed Hermione's door, his fingers trailed softly across the wood, gray eyes lingering on the painted white surface before he tore them away. He crossed the narrow hallway in a quick three strides, and he pushed open Harry's bedroom door unannounced.

"Pott—" His word cut off as and he froze mid-step into Harry's room. Instead of a sleeping Potter sprawled across his bed like he usually was, he found something that made his heart skip a beat. Harry was in the middle of his mattress, as expected, but there in his arms lay the whole reason Draco was walking into his bloody room in the first place—Hermione. And worse, they both appeared to be devoid of any clothing.

His heart rate increased as he watched them, wound together in a post-coitus slumber that made his heart ache. His nostrils flared, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he tried to calm his runaway emotions. He should turn around and walk out and wait for them to wake and confront them like he would for any other client, but this wasn't any other client. This was Hermione—the woman from his past he desperately needed to fix. The woman whose sobriety he felt solely responsible for. The woman he had just spent twelve thousand Dragot on to protect.

His eyes ran across the intertwined bodies. Harry's arms protectively around Hermione as she slept with her cheek against his chest. His fingers flexed as the jealous green eyed monster inside him reared its ugly head. "Fuck this." He moved to the end of the bed as he withdrew his wand, slicing it through the air. " _Aguamenti Maxima!"_

A burst of water rushed from the tip of his wand towards Harry and Hermione, rousing them from their serene slumber. He wasn't just upset because of the breach of his program rules. He wasn't mad because they slept together. He was pissed because the spark of magic he felt with both Harry _and_ Hermione suddenly amplified at the sight of the two of them wound together. And more importantly, he was fucking furious they acted on those impulses without him.

Harry sat up with a start, his hand moving in a feeble attempt to block the steady stream of water that nearly knocked him out of bed. "Wh-What the fuck!?" He shouted, thrashing in the bed until he toppled ass over tea kettle onto the floor, pulling the quilt down with him in his short descent.

Hermione screamed, her arms moving to curl around her head as the icy cold blast of water bit against her skin, drenching her from head to toe. "Stop it!" She shouted, only catching a glimpse of the simmering blond through the spray of water. "Draco, Stop it!"

With a flourish of his wand, the water slowed to a trickle until only stray droplets fell to the floor. His gray eyes appeared like maelstroms, swirling in their jealous fury as he looked between the two. His jaw clenched tightly, as if it was made from marble, as he looked between the two.

"The fuck, Malfoy!" Harry snapped, his legs kicking the now saturated quilt from the tangle between his feet. Pushing up off the ground, one of his hands dropped to cover his cock while the other moved to rub the back of his head, wincing.

Hermione grabbed at the nearly see through white sheet on the bed, pulling it over her body as she scooted back on the bed, tucking the top hem under her arms, hiding her breasts from Draco's view. She said nothing. No attempts at back pedaling or explaining what happened between them. Instead she held his gaze, her chin lifted defiantly as she watched him. And like a flash of lightning, his magic swelled inside the pit of his stomach in response to her demeanor causing his cock to stir to life in his trousers.

He wanted nothing more than to march across the room and pull her from that bed and snog her disobedience into submission. He wanted to bite her bottom lip, invade every last part of her mouth with his tongue and make her whimper for more. He wanted to leave her breathless, and more importantly, experience whatever happened between her and Potter last night. He wanted her. He wanted them both. Pulling his eyes away from Hermione, Draco bit the inside of his lip, silently cursing the Gryffindor obstinacy that was going to be the cause of his demise.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?!" Harry snapped as he snatched his glasses from the bedside table and popped them on his face. Water droplets lingered on the lens, obscuring his view.

" _My problem_?" Draco repeated, his words like venom. "My problem is that I trusted you to do one fucking job and you were clearly incapable of."

"What are you talking about?" Harry picked up a pair of discarded jersey shorts from the floor, shaking some of the water from them before stepping into them hastily.

"Take care of Granger," Between each word he paused, letting the pull effect of his request settle in. "I asked you to make sure she stayed sober, not shag her. Although I did not explicitly ask you not to put your cock in her, I assumed you possessed enough intelligence to realise that act was not included in my request."

Harry's brow pinched, his hand shaking some of the water loose from his hair. "It…It wasn't planned. I didn't wake up thinking _I'll just sleep with Hermione_ , but it bloody happened. And to be quite frank, I don't regret it. I would do it again if given the chance because I care for her. This doesn't have to bloody complicate thing unless you mean it to. And it's certainly not worth having a temper tantrum over."

"Harry." Hermione whispered, giving her friend a stern look as she shook her head before sliding from the bed and curling sheet around her body as she moved to stand between the two wizards.

"What? This is rubbish! He's overreacting." Harry defended.

"This is where you are wrong Potter, because it absolutely does bloody complicate things!" Draco could feel his temper rising, his hand curling painfully tight around his wand as he stared at man he'd snogged and wanked off no more than two nights ago. He would take a lot of things, but he was not going to stand there and act like what Potter was saying was correct. What they did far from okay. It wasn't jealousy dictating his anger. It was fucking trial and error. It was years of developing this plan—and of course, perhaps a small part of it was envy. " _Sex_ fucking complicates things—"

"Please just stop." Hermione injected fruitlessly.

"—she's still healing, you fucking moron. She literally traded sex for drugs, and you think what you did has no bearing on her recovery!? I knew you lacked intelligence, but I didn't think you were this bloody stupid."

"Don't…Don't bring up her past like that!" Harry warned in a low tone, his jaw clenching as he pointed a finger at the blond wizard. "I didn't fucking forget, and I'm sure she didn't either. We've all made mistakes, Draco. There are things about your past I know you're not proud of and I do not throw them in your face when it is convenient."

Draco's hand instinctively went to his dark mark, fingers curling tightly around his forearm. "This isn't about _me!_ This is about her. And how you fucking cocked up nearly two months' worth of work so you could get your dick wet."

"SHE'S BETTER!" Harry shouted, and in sync with his words, the pictures that hung on his walls rattled, his magic oozing from every pore his body and filling the room. "She's fucking better, Malfoy! She's not drinking, not taking Dragon's Breath. She's better!"

"Better? You think she's bloody _better_ because she hasn't had a fucking drink?" Draco could feel his own magic push against Harry's, causing the room to swelter despite the water that still pooled on the floor beneath their feet. "She hasn't had the fucking opportunity! She's not bloody better, she's coping. She's doing what all addicts fucking do. Hiding behind a mask of sobriety until the presented with her vice of choice and you can without a shadow of a doubt guarantee that she would still drink every last bloody drop from a bottle. She's _unwell_ , Potter. Spending six weeks in a bloody cottage in the middle of the forest isn't going to suddenly fix it. It took years to develop the habit, it is going to take more than six fucking weeks to heal, you absolute moron!"

Hermione's eyes sparkled in the artificial light of the room, tears threatening to spill as she stood between the row. Her hands rose and she placed her palms flat over her ears as her head shook. "Stop. Please just fucking stop!" her voice cracked as the dam holding her tears finally broke, sending two large droplets cascading down her reddened cheeks.

Draco looked down at the witch, unspoken anger still rolling across his tongue like a bitter pill. As much as he wanted Harry to realise his mistake, he didn't want to hurt her in the process. Biting his tongue as he watched her cry, her face mottling in what he could only assume was shame. Fuck, this was not his bloody plan. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't do this. Shaking his head he back stepped out of the room before turning on his heel and he moved quickly down the hallway towards the living room.

" _Accio overnight bag!_ " the burst of white light illuminated the dark hallway and the overnight bag he had put in his bedroom met him at the threshold to the living room where he pulled the strap over his shoulder. " _Accio messenger bag!"_

The sound of thundering feet followed him into the living room. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Harry's voice was a mixture of anger and worry from behind him, and as Draco tore open his messenger bag and began to look through his documents. "Malfoy, stop…. _Draco_! What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"Leaving," His voice was flat, void of any emotion that rippled beneath the surface. He could feel his occlumency shield raise, boxing in the wayward emotions and trapping them. He hadn't felt the need to use this talent in years, but tonight it came more naturally than it had ever before. A means to compose himself. A means to hide how he truly felt.

"What?" Harry's footsteps ceased.

"P-Please…Draco, please. I'm sorry" Hermione begged.

The sound of Granger's pleading voice cut him straight to the bone. The tremble in his hands returned despite his efforts, and he gulped down the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

Finding what he was looking for, Draco pulled the parchment from his bag and took one final deep breath to steel his resolve before he turned to face them. Lifting his wand in his other hand, he tapped the parchment and with a flash of pink light, the paper floated across the room at a languid place before landing at Harry's bare feet. "I'm leaving. Since you clearly know more than I do, you can do this on your own. Consider our contract ended."

"Don't do this." Harry's tongue ran across his lips, his brow pinching. "Don't go."

"You will receive a bill for my expenses by the end of the week." Draco continued, watching as Hermione literally crumbled before his eyes. Her body shaking as tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks. "I expect payment to be transferred to my vaults upon arrival of the bill."

"P-Please. I can't…I can't do this alone. Please. I'm sorry!" Hermione stammered, the thin sheet clinging to her still damp body. "I'm sorry."

"It's a good thing you'll have Potter then, isn't it?" Draco didn't wait for a response. He couldn't allow himself the opportunity to be swayed from his decision. He hoisted his bags on his shoulder before turning and leaving the cottage. The front door slammed behind him upon exit and he moved quickly down the wooden steps and past the rental car to the middle of the dirt road. His hands trembled as he stowed his wand and adjusted the straps of his bags against his chest, clinging to them for support as he closed his eyes and thought of a place he hadn't been to in ages. Home.

* * *

The crack of apparition felt like a knife wound. Gutting. Agonizing. Scaring. Eviscerating every last ounce of her composure, Hermione felt her body sway as tears overwhelmed her and for a moment she thought she would fall to the floor as the reality of what had happened set in. If it weren't for Harry's arms wrapping so tightly around her, she might have met that fate. Instead, she melted into him. Her face pressing against the hard plains of his chest, the soft black hair catching her tears as they fell.

Draco left. He said he would help her. He said he was going to make her better. He _promised_ to help, but he left. He was gone. Just like every other person in her life. Draco saw what she was. Worthless. Broken. Filthy. It would only be a matter of time before Harry realised what she really was. And the once again she'd be alone. Forever alone.

"It's okay," Harry cooed against the top of her head where he alternated between kissing and smoothing out her wild curls. "It's okay, 'Mione. We can do this. You'll be okay."

His words spoke of promises that she knew Harry was incapable of keeping. Draco _was_ right. As much as she wanted sobriety, the draw to numb her demons overpowered any sort of desire to be healthy she held. She _wanted_ to be clean, but her body told her she _needed_ the release.

Her short nails pierced the skin on his arms as she held him like he was a buoy and she was adrift a sea. Despite the warmth of his hold, and his magic that still lingered within her bones, a deep chill invaded her heart. Draco was gone…and despite the fact that Harry held her in his arms, she felt completely and entirely alone.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Alpha: disenchantedglow  
Beta: Ravenslight

Follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack. My inbox is always open for questions!


	12. Backslide

There was a consuming coldness that had yet to leave her since Draco's abrupt departure two days ago. It lingered within the center of her chest, ebbing its way into her soul as it invaded her bones. Consuming. Overwhelming. Like a bruise in the middle of her body that ached worse with each coming day. She couldn't explain why his disappearance was so devastating. Was it her history with people leaving? Or perhaps something more? Either way, she couldn't bother to try to figure out the root cause of this pain. Not when she needed to force a smile on her face for the benefit of her companion.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Harry's voice carried from the closet and into the bedroom where she sat in the middle of his king size bed. "I can tell Aurora I'm ill or something."

Hermione's arms wrapped tighter around her thighs, her fingers curling around her painted toes. "No, it's okay. You should go," she replied, chewing on her bottom lip. They had just arrived at Grimmauld Place that morning. There was no need for them to stay at the cottage anymore, and while the idea of returning to London should have been welcoming, it frightened her. Harry had suggested she stay with him—at least temporarily—although he'd given no timeframe in which she should leave. He had said he didn't want her to be alone.

It was obvious, even if he didn't dare utter the words. She wasn't _ready_ to be alone. He didn't trust her. Truth be told, she didn't trust herself. Which is partially why the idea of spending her first evening in Grimmauld Place alone was utterly terrifying. But she needed to try, right? Harry had already disappeared for nearly three months from the Wizarding World. She couldn't expect him to dedicate much more of his life solely to her recovery.

Kingsley had requested he show up to a cabinet meeting with the Wiltshire Coven, as the meeting topic was far from friendly, but according to Kingsley, Harry "had a way of bringing levity into a difficult discussion." Aurora was more than keen to get Harry back to work and insisted he go to the meeting via their phone call earlier in the morning. To his credit, Harry had asked—more than once—if it was okay he attend. He offered to cancel, but she couldn't ask that of him. Not when he'd given up so much already.

Walking out of the closet, his fingers fumbled with the collar to his crisp grey oxford, attempting to straighten it into submission. "I don't feel right leaving though. It's your first night here. I should be here." Emerald eyes swam with hesitation as he peered across the room at her.

Uncurling her arms from around her legs, Hermione kneed her way to the edge of the bed before gesturing for Harry to come closer. The soft cotton shorts she wore hung low on her hips, the material brushing softly against her thighs as she moved. "I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like you'll be gone all night, right?" she questioned.

Harry's hands found her waist as he moved to the edge of the bed, his fingers slipping underneath her shirt to brush across the skin on her hips and lower back. "Just a couple hours," he confirmed. "But—"

Hermione adjusted his collar before smoothing her hands across his chest, letting the warmth radiating from his skin provide temporary relief to the freezing cold of her pain. "But nothing," she interrupted. "I'll be okay."

His fingers swept across her skin and up her spine before his palm splayed between her shoulder blades. "Okay," he whispered, resigning himself to trust her. He pulled her close until her breasts pressed against his chest, their faces centimetres apart. "I'm so proud of you."

"For what?" Brown eyes locked on his emerald as guilt sunk like a rock in the pit of her stomach. He was… proud. Proud of what? She had done nothing to earn his praise. She was sober, but only because of Draco's efforts. And truth be told, if presented any form of her vice right now, she would indulged in their sweet release without hesitation. Her world felt shattered, a million tiny pieces, and she was hanging onto the shards no matter how deeply they cut into her skin.

"Your sobriety… Hermione, you have come a long way in such a short amount of time. I… I'm just proud," he explained, not allowing her a chance to respond before he leaned in to brush his lips across hers.

The magic inside her ignited as she felt his magic caress hers, stirring the emotions inside her into a flurry of confusion. What she had with Harry felt so right. His kiss, his touch. He could make her body sing with just the brush of his fingertips, but the moment he pulled away, the weight that had built up over the past couple days compressed her chest, pressing until it felt like she couldn't breathe. How was she supposed to function when she would shift from this endless bliss of his comfort to a consuming emptiness? Because try as she might to quiet it, the repetitive mantra that had developed over the past couple years whispered in the back of her mind, tormenting her. She was broken. She was filthy. She was worthless. It was only a matter of time before he left her, and she was going to be alone once more. Alone forever.

Her hands slid across his chest and over his shoulders to the base of his neck. She carded her fingers through his hair as their kiss deepened, ruining any semblance of order he'd tamed it into post-shower. When his tongue slide across the seam in her lips, asking for permission to delve inside her mouth, a shiver ran down her spine, making all of the tiny hairs on her arms stand. She needed this. She _wanted_ this. His touch. His kiss. His love.

Harry pressed her body into his until all she could feel was the warmth radiating from his body into hers. He wound his arms tighter around her petite frame, compressing her lungs in the most delicious way possible. Her knees brushed against the quilt, her body easily plucked off the mattress, and she found the urge to wrap her legs around his waist and tell him to forget the meeting, that she needed him here instead. Soothing her wounds with his face buried between her thighs.

"Harry," Hermione whispered against his lips, her hands sliding through his untidy locks. "You're going to be late," she sighed against his mouth.

Harry hummed in agreement but obviously didn't care, as his hand on her spine snaked down the back of her cotton shorts and he palmed her arse, kneading the soft flesh.

Breaking their kiss, Hermione's head tipped to the side, a soft whimper in approval escaping her lips as she brushed them across the shell of his ear. She could feel his cock stir to life against her belly, rapidly hardening beneath his crisp navy trousers. "Harry… we can't."

"We… can." He murmured against the skin on her neck between open-mouthed kisses.

Her hands moved from his hair back to his chest, where she pressed gently on him until he relented with a heavy sigh and stepped back. Her body hummed with magic, a mixture of his own and her own, weaving together inside her, causing her skin to erupt in a soft pink blush. "Go… before I change my mind."

The corner of his lips pulled in that lopsided smile that made her thighs press together, a mischievous glint in his eye that at one point in time would signal trouble at school but now made her heart beat wildly. "But what if I want—"

"Harry!"

"Okay, okay!" he relented, laughing as he took two steps back from the bed, his hands raised in surrender. "I'm going." Turning around, he picked up his cufflinks from a small glass dish atop the dresser, threading them through his sleeves before he pulled his business robes from the hook on the back of his bedroom door and shrugged into the garment.

Hermione sunk down to the mattress, resting on her haunches as she watched him adjust the clasp at the centre of his chest with ease, as if he'd doned this outfit several times before. Which was likely the case, but she found it almost funny thinking back to the first time he wore dress robes. How awkward and uncomfortable both he and Ron looked and now? Well, now he looked handsome. Striking. His dark features were a sharp contrast to the grey oxford, and the navy trousers and business robes seemed to highlight the green in his eyes in a way that some might deem sinful. He'd grown from the gangly boy she had known and loved during her childhood into a man. Strong. Powerful despite no longer having to fight for his life, it was obvious he took care of himself—although likely it was part of the contract requirements. Physically fit men tended to sell more issues of _Witch Weekly_ than those who didn't pay attention to their physical health.

"I won't be long," he promised, adjusting his robes as he studied himself in the free-standing easel mirror that stood beside his bedroom door. Looking over his shoulder towards her, his lips lifted in the smallest hint of a smile before he crossed the room towards her once more. His hand cupped over her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly as he pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "The house is yours too, Hermione. You don't have to hide in here. Explore. Redecorate if you want; I don't care. Make it home," he encouraged before tipping her chin up. His lips brushed over hers, ghosting promises of what was to come once he came home across the supple pink flesh.

She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his touch. "Hurry back," she whispered, fingers curling against the plush comforter. With a soft chuckle, Harry pulled away from her, ending with a chaste kiss against her cheek and a promise of his hasty return before he left.

The door was left open, inviting her to explore the remodeled ancestral Black home, begging her to gather her courage and crawl off the springy mattress in Harry's room, but as the sound of the Floo rushing closed downstairs echoed up the stairwell, the creeping cold insecurities immediately extinguished the burning embers that Harry's touch had just ignited.

She was alone. She was empty. She was broken.

* * *

It took her nearly two hours, but she made it out of the room. The quiet of the house provided an unnerving soundtrack, making every step echo loudly down the stark white halls. Grimmauld Place had been far from inviting during her previous stay. The dark tones that formerly draped the house made it feel broody and hostile. But this modern facelift was worse. There was not an ounce of the old décor left on the walls. No tapestries. Not even a hint that Kreacher used to reside within these walls. Instead everything felt almost clinical. Clean. Sterile.

She had foraged for food in the basement kitchen, opting for an apple, a couple slices of cheese and some crisps. They had barely arrived at Grimmauld Place before Harry had to get ready for his meeting, which left no time for grocery shopping. Coupled with the fact that she had zero money to her name, meant her options were limited.

After washing and drying her plate, Hermione moved back to the first floor and began her exploration. She decided to start in his study, but mainly because it was the closest door to where she stood in the hall. Opening the door, she walked around his office, picking up the occasional knickknack or picture to inspect it as she moved around the room.

Though his hallway held no evidence of their friendship, in his office she'd found an old photo tucked into a tattered picture frame. It was from the summer before their fourth year. Before the Triwizard Tournament. Before Ron's insecurity. Before Voldemort's return. Before Cedric's murder. She stood sandwiched between her friends. Their smiling faces beamed up at the camera in front of the Burrow. The night before they would leave for the Quidditch Cup. They looked happy. Whole. Youthful.

Her fingertips brushed across the glass covering the aged photo, across their smiling faces. What she would do to return to a time like that. When life was simple. Easy. When she didn't feel overwhelmed by the idea of just existing. A time when Harry and Ron didn't leave her. A time when life felt decidedly less—less empty. Less painful. Just less. Returning the frame to its spot, Hermione left the snapshot of a better time behind and exited the room, closing the door behind her with a soft snap in her retreat.

She moved from room to room, examining the cold décor, surveying the place that she would call home for an unknown length of time until Harry decided she wasn't worth saving. She made sure to leave each room undisturbed, careful to leave no trace of her examination.

By the time she'd made her way to the third floor, it had been nearly two hours since Harry had left. She half expected the sound of the Floo to rush up the stairwell to her at any moment. She figured she ought to stop and wait for Harry in the sitting room, but she also thought she might as well complete her exploration with one final door.

Pushing open the painted door, she was surprised to find a room brimming with clutter. Reminiscent of the Room of Requirement, it appeared that during the remodel of Grimmauld Place, it had come to house the artifacts from long ago. Like stepping back in time, she walked into the cluttered room, weaving through the piles of antiques. The room smelt exactly how she remembered Grimmauld Place to: mothballs and the faintest hint of bergamot. It was like being transported back in time as she looked at the long-forgotten relics that had obviously been tucked away without a second thought.

In the far corner of the room she could see the Black family tapestry pinned to the wall haphazardly. And sitting just in front of the woven family tree sat a battered brown trunk with the initials S.O.B carved into the surface surrounded by Falmouth Falcon's stickers.

Her lips pulled up in a small grin as she crossed the room, bypassing the rest of the clutter for the worn trunk. Her fingers spread across the dusty surface, pressing against the carved initials. Sirius. Gods, how could Harry tuck this up here and forget about it? Sirius had meant so much to Harry, even in the short amount of time they had gotten to know his godfather. She personally hadn't given much thought to the last Black heir over the last ten years, but seeing the trunk reminded her of how devastating his death had been for Harry.

Unfastening the leather strap holding the truck together, Hermione lifted the lid, hoping to find something inside she could bring downstairs for Harry. A memento to set in his office—a reminder of his life before the fame and Ministry-required meetings. Perhaps an old jacket, scarf, or even photograph that might have been stuffed inside the trunk when his room was emptied.

Lifting the heavy lid, she was greeted by the sight to swaths of fabric swirled together. Old shirts, and jackets. Garments thrown in without a care. They all smelled distinctly of Sirius despite their years in the trunk: tobacco smoke, aged leather, and cinnamon. Digging through the fabric, her hand disappeared into the trunk, and as she search for something she could bring down, her fingers brushed across something cold, smooth and round.

Her heart stuttered, and she froze. It… it couldn't be. Harry went through the house before he left, making sure there was not a single bottle left—but… had he forgotten to check up here? Her fingers curled around the object, and as she withdrew it from the depths of the trunk, her heart raced. In her grasp, she held an aged bottle of firewhisky. Ogden's Finest. The amber liquid swirled around the nearly-full bottle as she trembled. The sound of the liquor sloshing was like a siren's call that only the darkest parts of her soul responded too.

She shouldn't. She should put it back and walk away. She should tell Harry once he came home. She wanted to be sober. She wanted to be better for Harry. But as she stared at the bottle, her eyes wide and her mouth running dry, she realised that as much as she wanted to fight it, she _needed_ it. She needed the release. The warmth the liquor provided. The way it would numb her until the world make sense. She needed to hide from the pain.

Before she could provide herself any reason to stop, Hermione uncorked the bottle and brought it to her lips. The burn of the whisky pulled tears to the corner of her eyes as she gulped down the first mouthful. It scorched her throat as it cascaded down to her belly, pooling in the pit of her stomach. Almost instantly, the cold began to subside, and in its place a heat blossomed—unfurling until her entire body ignited with warmth.

It wasn't the same heat she got under Harry's touch, but it was enough to remind her how sweet the promise of detachment felt. It was enough to beckon the bottle back to her lips for a second time and allow her a temporary reprieve from the world around her.

* * *

Four hours. Four bloody hours of his night had been spent sitting beside Kingsley in a meeting that he really had no business at. He didn't give two fucks about the Wiltshire Coven, nor their grievances with the Ministry. He didn't care about the Ministry's desire to have the Coven's allegiance, and he certainly didn't care about their negotiations. The entire four hours his thoughts were on the petite witch who he'd left on his bed. His best friend. The same witch who made his heart thump wildly and his stomach clench in anticipation of returning to her.

Part of him knew he should take it slow. Despite their interwoven past, it had been quite some time since they were permanent fixtures in each other's lives, but something about her made him want to throw caution to the wind and just follow the thrumming magic that pulled at his heart every time he thought of her. Besides, if he focused on her, he might be able to forget about the thrill he felt when his mind drifted to thoughts of Draco. Because despite being absolutely furious at him for leaving—and his newfound love for Hermione, a small part of him wanted to figure out what this magic was that flowed between him and the blond wizard.

Pushing thoughts of Draco into the far reaches of his mind and heart, Harry kept his focus on Hermione. She needed him. And it was clear Draco held no intentions of returning. He'd already gone through this before—Draco leaving abruptly with no contact. He wasn't going to fall victim to the confusing feelings that followed a second time. Not when he had a beautiful witch waiting for him. Loving him. Wanting to be his.

Harry's smile widened at the thought as he made his way through the empty Ministry halls past the reception desk. He bid the night guard goodnight and moved to the Floo bank with a subtle eagerness to his gait. Reaching into the ceramic dish that sat atop the closest mantel, he took a fistful of the emerald green powder and tossed it into the flames crackling inside the hearth. With a whoosh of magic, red turned to green and Harry stepped into the cooled fire. The magicked flames lapped against his pant legs, tickling his skin as he called out his address. "Grimmauld Place."

He didn't know if it was the rush of the Floo travel or anticipation of seeing Hermione again, but when he stepped out of the flames and onto the hearth of his living room, his stomach fluttered like he'd swallowed a mouthful of butterflies.

HIs eyes adjusted to the change in light, unblurring from the travel, as he brushed some soot from his business robes. "'Mione?" he called out, excitement evident in his tone but as he looked up and around the room the delicious coil in his lower belly snapped and was replaced by a heavy lead stone.

The room was in shambles. The coffee table was on its side, the glass insert shattered. The lamps were smashed on the floor, and the few paintings that were still hung on the wall were crooked, while the rest appeared as if they had been blown to bits where they fell. A lump formed in his throat, silencing him entirely as he looked around the room. His feet felt like they were encased in cement blocks and his palms were slick with sweat.

In the middle of the wreckage, Hermione sat on the couch. Her wand rested against her stomach, loosely clasped in her hand, while the other dangled over the edge of the couch, her fingertips brushing against the floor. White stuffing spilled from the arm of the couch, tangling with her curls. Her lips parted with heavy breaths as an obvious substance-induced sleep held her captive.

Harry moved towards her, his feet crunching through broken glass and splintered wood as he crossed the room, lying to himself that this wasn't exactly what it seemed. Maybe she had a redecorating accident. Maybe she got scared and lashed out. Both completely illogical justifications for the mess, but he needed something other than the obvious needed to explain what had happened.

And just as he convinced himself the state of his house was nothing to be alarmed about, his loafer-clad foot clipped the side of something hard, and the sound of an empty bottling rolling made his mouth run dry. His eyes dropped to the floor, watching the worn bottle work its way across the floor, the hollow sound ringing his ears.

His mind screeched to a halt. The gears that had been spinning suddenly atrophied as he watched the bottle roll against her hand in front of the couch, the faded Ogden's Finest label mocking him. He'd been careful. He'd combed the house and made sure to _Evanesco_ the liquor and wine he'd had in his cabinets. He'd even dumped out the mouthwash even though he was nearly positive Wizard's Whitest Teeth didn't contain any alcohol. He didn't want to risk it. He wanted to make this transition as easy as possible. He wanted her to succeed more than he'd ever wanted anything else. He wanted her to be happy, healthy and whole.

And as suddenly as the dread settled into his heart, the guilt followed. He shouldn't have left her. It was their bloody first night back! What the fuck was he thinking. He should have told Kingsley he was busy. This was his fault. He was far from an expert on recovery, but it didn't take being a healer or alchemist to figure out that he shouldn't have left her alone. Especially not in a house where obviously, despite his best efforts, bottles of fucking alcohol had been left.

His hand rose, carding through his thick black locks, fingers pulling and twisting the fringe as he tried to gather his own wayward emotions. It would do no good to fall to pieces now. Not when she needed him the most.

Cursing himself, he swiped his hand across his face to gather his wits, and just as his lungs filled to the brim with oxygen, the burn of over-inflation throbbing in the centre of his chest, Hermione lurched up from the couch in a coughing fit.

As if the world moved in slow motion, he watched as vomit poured from her lips, her body hunched over the edge of his couch, spilling onto the floor as she coughed through the violent upheaval. Her hand went to her mouth, trying to prevent it from happening, but all she succeeded in doing was spilling her sick down her arm and spraying the couch in the process.

"Shite!" Harry pulled his wand from his pocket in a flash and pointed it across the room. " _Accio vase!_ " he said as he moved the short distance to Hermione, stepping right through her sick so he could lean over her body and rub her back gently. Catching the floating vase, he dumped the magicked life-long flowers to the floor before thrusting it beneath her hanging head. "It's okay, 'Mione. I've got you."

He held the rim of the vase as she heaved, her vomit spilling across his hand until it seemed her body could give no more. Her gasping turned to tears as she fell back on the couch once more.

"I—I'm so-rry," she managed, brown eyes shut tight as tears ran down her flushed cheeks and splashed over the tattered couch.

Setting the vase at his feet, Harry pointed his wand towards his hand and whispered, " _Scorgify."_ As the light blue light erupted from the tip of his wand, he felt the tingle of magic nip at his skin and vanish the mess. "It's okay… it's okay," he whispered, laying his wand in his lap as he reached over to smooth her curls that stuck to her sweat damp forehead.

Merlin, what had he done? Had he ruined what had just barely begun? Had he risked three months of her sobriety just to go to a fucking Ministry function he was barely needed at? Biting his bottom lip, he felt tears prick his eyes as he watched her slender fingers wrap around his wrist, preventing him from pulling back from where he stroked at her cheek.

"I'll b-e better….I-I'll–I'm… sorry," Hermione's voice sank to a whisper, eyes cracking open just before she floated out of consciousness, the liquor calling her back to a slumber that she was incapable of fighting.

Her hold on his wrist loosened until her hand fell lifeless against her chest. Her lips glistened with salvia, and a dribble of vomit still lay on her chin. And as she lay there, like some macabre sleeping beauty, Harry felt his heart shatter in two.

She wasn't better. She was far from better. No matter how bloody badly he wanted her to be well, she wasn't. And he'd risked everything tonight. He wasn't capable of helping her. Not when he didn't understand what she was going through. Not when he didn't realise how desperate she had become.

Wiping away the stray tears that slipped down his cheek, Harry picked up his wand and rose from the couch before slicing it through the air. " _Expecto Patronum."_ A weak burst of light blossomed from his wand, and a stag sauntered through the wisps of silvery magic, languidly moving across the room. Keeping his wand trained on the spirit animal, Harry beckoned the beast to him with his mind.

"Draco… it's Hermione. I— She needs you. Please hurry."

The message was desperate, but he didn't know where else to go. Everyone had turned him down before, and surely their answer would be no different now. Draco was her only hope, and he would do everything in his power to get him back into their lives.

The stag listened to the message, its head lowering in recognition before Harry cast it off out the open window. He watched the silvery magic streak through the room, the iridescent twinkle fading to black as it fell to the floor. Lowering his wand, Harry let out an uneven breath, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as he felt more unbidden tears splash against the lapels of his business robes.

He moved back to the couch, lowering himself to kneel beside Hermione, and he lifted his free hand to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking softly across the red in her cheeks. "I'm sorry… I'm so bloody sorry, Hermione," he whispered despite knowing she wouldn't remember any of this come morning. "I'll fix this… I'll make this better. I promise."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Beta - Ravenslight  
Alpha - Disenchantedglow

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	13. Home

It had been nearly eight years since he'd stepped foot in the Manor. Eight years since he packed an overnight bag and never returned. Eight years since he'd seen his mother. Eight bloody years to prepare for this moment: when he finally returned home. And the moment he stepped foot in the grand foyer, he realised eight more years could have passed and still he'd have been utterly unprepared.

When he'd left, he'd done so in the dead of night, packing only a small bag filled with four days' worth of clothing, some jewelry he could sell, and the stash of Galleons he'd saved in a box in his room. Draco had never planned to be gone so long, but once he'd, left he had realised he couldn't go back. Not when the manor held such intense memories—memories that were suffocating—memories that were holding him back.

At one point in time, he and his parents had been happy. His early memories were filled with scenes from a picturesque childhood. Running dripping wet through the halls post-bath with his house-elf hot on his heels, a towel clutched in its hands. Sitting in his father's lap as he balanced the ledger, watching his elegant writing blossom across the white parchment as he spoke to Draco about how the business would all be his one day. Sitting beside his mother in the library while they soaked in the afternoon sun as she read to him. Learning to ride his broomstick in the pasture beyond the stables. It was all so pure. Innocent. But these memories he once cherished were tainted by the much darker ones he collected as he aged.

Worse, though, than the memories that came flooding back to him upon his return home was the look in his mother's eye when he walked into the ladies' parlor where she was taking her morning tea. She was still in her housecoat with her greying blonde hair pulled back in a thick braid. He'd caught her off guard, arriving with no notice. She should have been perturbed. She should have scolded him and told him he knew better—he was raised better. But instead, she had wept.

His mother. The same bloody woman who hadn't shed a single tear when his father had received the kiss. The same woman who buried his stillborn siblings with a set jaw and a detachment that was frightening in retrospect. He had only ever seen her cry three times in his life before that morning. Each memory was permanently burned into his mind, reminding him of her strength—or perhaps it was pride.

The first time was during fifth year when the news spread of his aunt's escape from Azkaban. He had walked into the dining room that unusually warm January morning, and instead of finding his parents sitting side by side in silence over their morning breakfast, he'd found them huddled in front of the fireplace. His mother had pressed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes while his father rested his hand upon her lower back. He couldn't hear the words they spoke from across the room, but the paper that lay over his place setting let him know what their hushed discussion was in reference too. Back then, he had foolishly assumed her tears to be joyous, overcome with emotion due to the news of her sister's inevitable return. It was only when he looked back after the war that he realised what her tears really were. Fear. Terror. Dread. Only she knew what her sister's escape truly meant for her family back then.

The second time he saw her cry was the night he took the mark. Voldemort had already taken up residence in the Manor, despite his mother's pleas. The Dark Lord had unfortunately developed a keen interest in him over that summer, often calling Draco to the east wing of the manor to discuss Hogwarts, the Headmaster and—of course—Harry Potter. When he told Draco he had plans for him, plans that required him taking a pledge of fidelity, Draco had not hesitated. He knew the request didn't really give him an option but was rather a cleverly worded decree from the man who had begun to run their household. While taking the mark meant he was a part of something he didn't fully understand, he was wise enough to understand what it _did_ mean: protection for his family from the very man they were supposed to revere.

On that dreary summer's night, he had left the study clutching his bloodied forearm as the magic burned into his skin, forever tainting him. He had nearly made it to his room unseen when he saw her, standing just outside the library doors, a place she had begun to frequent more often since Voldemort and his followers had become sequestered in the Manor. He had frozen, petrified under her stare in the middle of the hallway, and he watched her blue eyes sparkle with tears. Just as the first ones fell, trickling over her sharp cheekbones, she had turned on her heel, not uttering a single word as she fled, leaving him rooted in the middle of the hallway while his blood dripped on their marble floor.

The third time was the night of the final battle, when news of Voldemort's demise spread like fiendfyre. She had wept openly in their dining room, unashamedly clutching the front of his father's robes. She was barefaced in her relief as the plague that had ruined their family name was finally defeated.

And now today.

Draco's own reaction was less transparent than hers. He was shocked, frozen once again under the emotion in her eyes as she crossed the room to embrace him. He had missed his mother—how could he not?—but life had pulled them apart for specific reasons. He needed to heal. He needed to go somewhere he could live judgement free. A place he wasn't famous for all the wrong reasons. And his mother couldn't leave. She was forced to stay in a s0ciety that hated her, working to pull their family name from the depths in which it had fallen.

Guilt ate at him as his mother pulled him into a tight hug, her tears painfully hot as they splashed against his collar. Even his name leaving her lips sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He should feel relieved. He should be happy, but in that moment, he felt nothing. Empty. Vacant.

She didn't press for a length of stay as she ushered him across the room toward the table she had occupied when he entered. Instead, she poured him tea and held his hand, desperately clinging to him as she asked about his work. They had been corresponding daily, writing letters giving each other updates about the comings and goings in their lives, but being in a room with her was different. He could see the delicate age lines on her beautiful face. The grey in her hair. The wrinkles on the top of her hands where her skin had begun to thin. Was his mother really that old, or had the stress that consumed her since he'd left aged her?

Malfoys were like dragon flowers; they kept while others wilted. His mother would often remind him of this as a child, but now it seemed she had fallen victim to the most senseless criminal of all: time. He had not seen her in nearly nine years, and during that time, he had left her to age, to wither away in her home while he escaped. But this was no more a home than it had been during his years at Hogwarts. It was a fucking prison, and he had left her to die here. Alone.

His feelings of trepidation regarding returning to this place were buried under the mountain of guilt that accumulated over the course of the day as he stayed by his mother's side. She only left him to change into more presentable attire that morning after a lengthy breakfast. He walked her through the gardens—at her request—and they took their dinner in the solarium after Draco insisted they forgo the dining room for something more casual.

By the time they watched the sun set across the gardens from the second story balcony while his mother sipped her pinot noir and he drank an herbal tea, his thoughts had begun to drift back to Harry and Hermione. What happened after he left? Was she okay? Would Harry understand his departure or did he still think it excessive? Were they still in the cottage, or had they returned to London? They were all questions he held no answer to, and although he could easily owl and find out, he told himself he couldn't— _wouldn't_. They broke his rules. They made their choice the moment they decided to lay with one another. And while he told himself it didn't hurt, the empty feeling that returned to the centre of his chest, eating at his magic until he felt like he was without a jacket in the middle of January, told him otherwise.

Before he knew it, two days had passed. Both were filled with keeping his mother company while they spoke about anything other than the lingering trauma between them. Like wounds that refused to heal, those years remained an unspoken burden. They were both unwilling to bring it up for fear of ruining the tenuous peace between them. But each day he spent within the walls of the Manor made it harder to ignore. He hated it here, but worse, he hated himself for having left his mother.

Sitting on the end of his bed with his head hung in his hands, Draco pressed his palms into his eyes until white stars burst to life. The itch to leave had grown throughout the day. He had no business remaining in England, not after he left Harry and Hermione. He had a company to run, and it seemed word had gotten out about his recent work with Finnius Warbeck, which had resulted in an influx of requests for his services. He should bid his mother farewell and take the next portkey to Las Vegas, but something kept him from leaving. Maybe _they'd_ need him. Maybe he wanted them to need him.

Dropping his hands into his lap, Draco slowly cracked open his eyes and waited for the room to unblur as he let out a heavy breath. His room was exactly how he'd left it that fateful night eight years prior: not an item missing or out of place. He didn't know if it relaxed him to know he would always have a place in his family home or infuriate him for the exact same reason.

From his vantage point, he could see into his closet. Suits from the past hung in neat rows. Black. Crisp. Menacing. He'd tried so hard to fit into the mould his parents had made for him. Pure-blood. Prestigious family. Woefully aloof to the problems around him. He dressed and acted the part in hopes of making his parents proud.

As he looked at his attire from the past, his right hand drifted to his forearm, and he curled his fingers over the spot where the Dark Mark lay beneath the cashmere jumper he'd selected earlier that day. Always long sleeves. Always hiding the tattoo from his past, afraid to expose the inky stain on his skin to the light. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his mind drifted back to that time in his life, reliving the painful details he'd fought to keep at bay all day.

The trauma. The pain. The emotional toll those years took on him. It all came rushing back as he looked around his unchanged room. His stomach rippled with a tidal wave of nausea and abruptly the spacious bedroom felt like a coffin. He needed to leave. He couldn't stay here. Not after what had happened inside the walls. Not after what he'd witnessed—what he'd experienced.

Pushing off the mattress, Draco moved across the room, his loafers snapping loudly against the marble floor as he moved to where his bags sat on a chair. He picked them up, slinging his messenger bag's strap across his chest as he curled his hand tightly around the handle, beginning to walk towards his bedroom door.

His mother would forgive him. She _had_ to forgive him. She needed to understand that he couldn't be here with her. No matter how badly he wanted to stay. No matter how much it pained him to leave her. She _had_ to understand what this place did to him. When he was here, it felt as if he would never be happy again. The memories that lived within the confines of this Manor were like dementors, sucking every ounce of happiness he had built over the eight years he'd been gone. He'd fought so hard to move past it—all of his mistakes. But when he was here, there was no forward momentum. It was as if he was sucked back to seventh year all over again.

Just as he reached for his door handle, each step closer to the exit providing the tiniest ounce of relief, a flash of silver magic caught the corner of his eye. Craning his head towards his window, he watched as a silver deer—no, a _stag—_ drifted through his bedroom window. His eyes narrowed, watching the stag prance around his bedroom. A patronus? Who would send him a bloody patronus? He did not personally possesses the ability to cast a corporeal patronus. In fact, not too many people he knew did.

Turning his back to the bedroom door, he moved to face the spirit animal as it sauntered over to him, its head lifting to proudly display the full rack of antlers atop its head. Just as slowly as it made its way over to him, the magical beast opened its mouth, and Draco knew without question who the patronus belonged to.

"Draco… it's Hermione. I— she needs you. Please hurry."

He didn't realise he'd lost his grip on his overnight bag until the sound of the leather smacking against the tile reverberated off the walls around him. All of the demons that had consumed his mind and soul seconds before vanished and left him feeling something entirely new: anxiety. Specifically for the two people he had just left.

He stood frozen, rooted in place as he watched the stag vanish, leaving only a trail of glittery silver magic in its wake, his mind reeling to catch up to what Harry was requesting. Granger needed him. Potter needed him as well.

Pulling himself from his stupor, Draco turned on his heel and yanked open his bedroom room, his heart thundering painfully beneath his ribs as he moved down the hallway with only one goal in mind: getting to Granger.

* * *

When Draco arrived at Grimmauld Place, he didn't uttered a single word to Harry. Hell, the blond wizard barely even glanced Harry's direction before he single-handedly took over Hermione's care. Draco cleaned her up, poured potions he'd procured from the washroom down her throat with a practiced ease, and applied wet flannels across her flushed cheeks until her body finally cooled down enough to allow her to drift off to sleep. Harry stayed back, watching in silence, afraid to say or do anything that might disrupt his work. It was only once she was fast asleep and Draco was vanishing the empty bottles that Harry tried to move to her side. He wanted to help. He _needed_ to help, but Draco had obviously sensed what he was about to do and cut him off.

Draco side-stepped, blocking Harry's approach before pocketing his wand and scooping Hermione up from the couch. Harry watched in silence as Draco cradled her bridal style against his chest, holding her like a china doll that would break into a million tiny pieces if he wasn't careful.

Watching Draco hold her, Harry couldn't help but notice a sadness in the man that he'd never seen before. A familiar despondency in the wizard's eyes showed he understood exactly what the witch was going through—something he likely struggled with to this very day—and it was in that moment that Harry realised he didn't know who was the more broken of the two, Draco or Hermione. Each battled demons that clung to their bones, unwilling to let go of their captives. So different, yet the same. Broken, beautiful creatures that he longed to save. Harry's heart seized at the thought, and instead of following after Draco as he moved up to the second floor, Harry remained in the living room, listening to the sound of Draco's heavy footsteps through the halls above him as he moved Hermione into one of the spare rooms. Each of the people his heart and magic longed for needed him, and so far all he had done was make things worse.

It felt like he stood there for an eternity, a war waging inside his heart as he tried to process what had happened and, most importantly, what he was feeling. He needed to be strong, not just for Hermione but clearly for Draco too. He needed to own his mistakes. He needed to admit his fault and make sure it never happened again, and the only way that would be possible was with Draco's help.

He resolved to not let the wizard leave his home without a promise of returning. He'd pay whatever was needed. He'd take a year off from the Ministry. He'd go into bloody hiding if that's what was required. He wasn't going to lose Hermione—or Draco—for a second time.

Moving up to the second floor, Harry sat on the hardwood floor opposite from the guest room Draco and Hermione had disappeared into. His bare feet planted firmly on the floor and elbows on top of his bent knees, Harry carded his fingers through his unruly hair, twisting small clumps of it between his fingers as he waited. For what he wasn't even entirely sure, but he just knew he needed to be here, near them, but providing the space needed for Draco to work.

The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled his attention away from the wood grain of the floor he had been examining, and immediately his heart skipped a beat as he watched the blond emerge from the bedroom. "How is she?" Harry said quicker than he intended, his body arching off the wall, nervous tension running through his spine.

Draco dropped his gaze to the floor, silver eyes cold and piercing as he looked down at the raven-haired wizard critically. The words worked in his mouth, dancing across his tongue like a bitter potion. He wanted to yell. He wanted to hex Harry into oblivion for being so bloody dense. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so fucking stupid? "Alive. No thanks to you."

Harry winced at the fire in Draco's tone, his eyes dropping down to look at the bottom hem of his button down shirt where his hands subconsciously pulled at the stitching. "I… I didn't plan for this to happen." Harry said softly.

"No? You didn't hand her the bloody bottle and encourage her to drink?" Draco deadpanned.

"W-what?! No!" Harry stammered as he quickly looked back up to Draco, emerald eyes wide.

"I'm not a bloody idiot, Potter. Of course you didn't. But the problem here isn't you fucking encouraging her to drink. It's that you were unprepared to prevent it. What the fuck happened? _How_ did this happen? Where _were_ you?" Draco demanded, and despite his best efforts, he could feel his voice tick up an octave as he spoke, unable to prevent his passion from seeping into his words.

"I… I had to go to that meeting," Harry began, chewing on the bottom corner of his lip through his words. "It was supposed to be short! I wasn't gone that long. Only four hours. She said she was fine! I—I didn't intend for this to happen."

Draco watched Harry, simmering with anger the longer he let the wizard speak. Lifting a single hand, Draco silenced him before closing his eyes, and he took a slow, deep breath to compose himself. "You left her alone?" he questioned, not yet opening his eyes.

"Yeah…"

"For four hours. You left her _alone_ for four hours?" Draco confirmed, his jaw clenching. He had to have misheard. There was no possible way Potter could have done that. While he knew that the Boy Wonder lacked knowledge in addiction treatment, he had to have known that was a bad idea. Didn't he?

"I'm sorry."

Draco reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel his magic swirl angrily inside him, seeping from his pores as he fought to gain control of his runaway emotions. The pictures around him trembled on their hooks, threatening to crash to the ground or burst into a million tiny pieces. "Potter," he began slowly, his hand dropping to his side as he slowly opened his eyes. "Your naiveté towards addiction is neither endearing nor fucking helpful. You have single-handedly caused your best friend—the same one you decided to shag, mind you—to relapse because of your actions. Make no mistake; this is your fault. You might not shoulder the blame for her demons, but _you are_ the reason she drank tonight. You left her alone, in a strange house for four fucking hours while you went to play lap dog for Minister Shacklebolt? This is nothing more than gross negligence on your part."

Harry remained silent, letting the words slice him as they flew across the narrow hallway. Everything Draco said was right. This was his fault. He had failed her. Harry nodded, gulping to try and rid himself of the large lump that seemed to settle at the base of his throat, preventing him from breathing comfortably.

"You were a selfish boy, and it appears that you have not outgrown that particular personality trait. You didn't give a shit about her wellbeing the moment you crawled into bed with her, and you certainly showed that by leaving tonight." Draco could feel the fire in his belly rise, his magic licking at his lungs as he spoke. Around him, one by one, the pictures began to drop off the walls, smashing to the ground and causing the glass to shatter on impact. "While leaving was not my finest moment, it was a decision I stand by. _You fucked up_. And if you continue down this path, you will do more damage than you already have. She deserves more than what life has handed her. I cannot sit by and allow that to happen."

The last of the pictures dropped at the end of the hallway, the shattering of glass echoing in the confined space. Before Draco could even put sound thought behind his edict, the words spilled from his lips. "I will be taking up residence in the guestroom Hermione is in. She will stay there until well enough to move into a room on her own."

"W-what?" Harry stammered, his jaw dropping.

"Did I stutter? I will be moving in until it has been determined she is far enough along in her recovery that I can leave her in your care. You both have a lot to learn, and it seems neither of you can be trusted at this point in time." Draco lifted a manicured blond brow at Harry in a silent question, wondering if the other wizard would challenge his decision. When Potter said nothing, instead only giving him a blank stare as if he were a deer stuck in a lantern's light, Draco turned away from him, glancing down the the moment to set his jaw. Trying to tame his run away emotions.

"Thank you…" Harry whispered after several seconds of silence, wanting to fill the void in their conversation. He knew it didn't mean much, not after what he'd done, but it was a start. The two words could only express so much of the relief he felt now that he knew Draco was coming back.

Draco didn't look back at him, instead keeping his eyes focused on the shards of glass that littered the hallway, twinkling like stars in a night's sky where they lay scattered across the dark wood flooring. He couldn't look at him, not when he knew part of this blame lay on his own shoulders. He had told Potter he stood by his decision, but he should have never left them in the cottage. He shouldn't have overreacted. Part of this relapse was his own fault. And while he wouldn't verbalize this to Harry, he was not naïve enough to not know the truth. Clearing his throat, Draco gathered himself before taking a deep breath. "I'm going back to her bedside. You should clean this up and search your house to find any more bottles of alcohol you might have forgotten about." Draco turned, purposefully keeping his gaze away from Potter as he moved back inside the bedroom, letting the door shut behind him with a resounding snap.

* * *

"Draco?"

A soft voice called from the bed nearly an hour later, pulling him from his thoughts as he sat across the room, looking out the window to the square below. Draco looked over at Hermione prone form in the bed. She was swaddled in thick burgundy blankets, her hair spread across the pillow like a crown. How his heart longed for this to be a different scenario. One in which he wasn't here to help her gain sobriety. One where he crawled into bed beside her and held her until the morning's light woke them. But the deep bags under her eyes and the splotchy flush to her cheeks reminded him of the real reason for his stay, even if his heart begged him to forget.

"I'm here," he said softly, turning away from the window sill and moving across the floor to sit beside her bed in the chair he'd transfigured earlier. "You okay? Do you need anything?"

Hermione looked up at him, her brown eyes already glistening with tears by the time he reached her bedside, and when her small hand snaked from beneath the covers, reaching for him, he reached out, letting their fingers lace together.

"You're really here," she whispered, her voice quivering.

"I am," he returned, silver eyes softening as he looked down at her. When two large tears rolled down her cheeks, Draco knelt beside her so they were face to face, his free hand moving to brush her tears away with the back of his knuckles, silver eyes softening at her. "No tears, Granger."

Hermione let out a weepy laugh, her other hand raising to touch his own cheek. He could feel the warmth of magic blossom between them, beginning in the centre of his being, radiating out until it consumed his entire body. "You're here," she repeated, brown eyes flickering across his face. "I just— I never thought I'd see you again. You left."

"I'm sorry… I acted imprudently." His thumb swept across the high bone of her cheek, collecting the tears as they fell. He didn't know if it was possible to feel relief and sorrow at the same time, but as he knelt beside her, their hands woven together as he swept away tears he had caused, he couldn't help but break inside. He'd never meant to hurt her. He had never meant to abandon her the way she had been abandoned before.

Her hand slid across his cheek, down the side of his neck and over his chest until it lay over his heart. He felt her fingers curl into the soft fabric of his jumper, holding him tight as she leaned into his touch while his hand cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Don't go… please don't leave." Her voice cracked.

The rules for this life he had cautiously constructed seemed to crumble. Hermione _needed_ him. She needed more than just a stern word and tough love. She needed touch. She needed affection. She needed to be reminded that despite her flaws, she was wanted. Needed. Loved. Leaning down, Draco pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closing to prevent the tears that had sprung to his eyes from falling, and their noses brushed against one another as he spoke. "I'm here. I'm not leaving," he whispered to her quietly, his thumb still stroking against her cheeks. "I'll always be here."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Alpha: Disenchantedglow  
Beta: Ravenslight

If you have not checked it out yet, Ravenslight has an AMAZING new story out that I highly recommend you jump over and read!

Come follow me on Tumblr ms-merlinblack. Leave me a note and let me know what you think.


	14. Healing

"Are you mad at me?" Hermione whispered from where she lay in the too-soft bed, fingers picking at the thick comforter that still lay over her. She had woken up nearly an hour ago, but she lay silent, watching the blond wizard sleep beside her. She could only remember bits and pieces from the previous night, and the flashes she could recall were none too pleasant. She remembered the burn of the fire whiskey as it settled low in her belly, aiding her self-hatred.

She could remember blasting Harry's photographs off the wall, the images of the past nine years of his life taunting her—his life without her. She could remember the deep hopelessness that had invaded her bones. The cold crushing reality that she was worthless. That Harry would leave her, just as he had done that very night. She could remember throwing up until her stomach twisted in violent knots, winding so painfully tight that she prayed for sleep—or death. Whichever one would usher her into peace at last. And finally, she could remember warmth. The touch of a hand on her skin, stroking her hair, calming the restlessness of her soul as she wrestled her demons into the great beyond. She could remember Draco curling up beside her, his arm around her waist, holding her through the night, reminding her that he was there with her. She _could_ remember his promise—that he'd never leave her alone again.

Draco reached up, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhaled sharply. Merlin, how many times did they have to have the same sodding conversation within a twenty minute span? It was nearly eight in the morning, and he had yet to have a single cup of tea. His morning paper delivery was likely downstairs waiting for him. And he still had the pesky problem of having to face Harry after chewing him six ways from Sunday. As far as he was concerned, he had answered her question to a more than acceptable level more than once already this morning. He wasn't quite sure how much reassurance she required, but surely this was borderline excessive even for her semi-neurotic personality.

"Please listen carefully because I am not going to repeat this for a fourth time," he said, dropping his hand to his side. "I am _not_ angry with you. I am _not_ upset. I am _not_ sore. I am _not_ even the slightest bit perturbed by your behaviour. What you did was completely normal. You were not ready to leave the cottage, despite what you and Potter thought. What _I am_ is relieved… I am relieved that you didn't leave Grimmauld Place to go find something far worse than fire whiskey to help comfort you. I am thankful that Potter had the wherewithal to contact me and let me know you needed help, but more than anything, I am glad that you are okay, Hermione."

Crossing the room to her bed, he sat down beside her, reaching out to lay his hand on top of hers. Nearly instantly, the thrum of magic sparked between them. Warm. Comforting. Like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night, it invaded his body with a slow creep. His heart swelled in response as the feeling radiated through him, expanding and twisting its vine-like roots under his skin until he felt positively enraptured.

Logically, he knew he should shy away from the feeling that flowed between them, but at this point in time, he no longer cared. She needed this: touch, reassurance, and physical comfort to break down her barriers and let her know that everything would be okay and that he wasn't going to disappear on her like he had before. That he would keep his word. That he would stay.

Beyond the unspoken promise that his touch gave to Hermione, a small part of Draco craved the comfort as well. It had been so long since he allowed himself to give into the softest side of intimacy. That doesn't mean that he was celibate since recovery. Far from it—but there was a drastic difference between touching someone during a quick shag and what was occurring between them.

Now that he's given in, he realised that he needed the same reminder she did. That it was okay to feel something beyond the apathy he'd worn for so many years as a mask to keep others at a distance, never wanting anyone to get too close. For the first time in his life, he was willing to let his guard down, to allow Hermione and Harry to see what demons he still contained. The same ones so permanently etched into his soul he was not sure he'd ever be free of their pain—even years later.

Hermione's eyes dropped to watch his hand lay on hers, the warmth she had felt last night radiating from the centre of her chest and washing over her body in a slow moving wave. This tingle of magic was intoxicating, better than any drug or drink she'd consumed. She wanted to get lost in the feeling and succumb to the maddening ache it created in her heart and figure out if her body would sing just the same as it did under Harry's touch. She wanted it to cleanse her soul of the trauma that lay within, but even now through the comfort of Draco's touch, there seemed to be something missing. Like there was a hole in the middle of her heart, and no matter how much she tried to fill the hole with this warmth, his mere presence and touch provided, it always seemed to trickle away, fleeing into the void within her.

"I'm sorry." Her voice cracked, brown eyes glued to their hands, watching as she slowly laced her fingers with his, studying the contrast of his milky, pale skin against her own peaches-and-cream tan. She couldn't pinpoint when it happened, this thing between them. At some point, an unspoken bond that neither dared mention verbally had forged between them, but here she was, holding his hand, leaning into his touch through the night. She relished in the comfort he provided as she journeyed out of the depths of her self-imposed hell and back to reality. And while part of her was scared at the idea of finding comfort in Malfoy, the other part of her craved the reprieve from the horrors that had plagued her mind since he left. "I… I was so mad. I just thought— I thought that maybe I could just drink a little. Just enough to calm down and make the pain go away."

Draco winced at her words as they wounded him, piercing his armour until he could feel a metaphorical trickle of blood run down his chest from where she'd impaled him directly in the heart. "Hermione, it's not your fault," he repeated softly. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have left. I know better than to let my emotions get in the way. I shouldn't have reacted so harshly, but walking in and seeing you and Harry…" His voice trailed off and an entirely new emotion flared to life.

Jealousy. He had been angry they had broken his rules, yes, but more than anything he was jealous. Of who? He couldn't pick. Perhaps both? He wanted her, physically, emotionally, and totally. It was as if she was cut from the same cloth as him, despite their different upbringings. Both broken and in need of each other, but… Potter. His desire for the raven-haired wizard ran deeper than the late night tavern hook ups they had had nearly a decade ago. The handy he'd given Harry on the porch was just the tip of the iceberg of the depraved things he wanted to do to that wizard.

Just as suddenly as the warmth had swept through his body moments earlier, it was snuffed away when Hermione pulled her hand from his. His eyes lifted back to her, brows furrowed in confusion as he watched her focus on adjusting the quilt at her lap, not daring to meet his gaze.

Harry. The mere mention of his name brought her back to reality. She'd been so selfish, absorbed in Draco's touch and the magic that moved between them, that she'd completely forgotten about Harry. Guilt ate at her conscience as she straightened her spine, sitting up rigidly on the bed. She shouldn't be doing this. Talking to him, holding his hand. She shouldn't want his touch. She was with Harry—wasn't she? They'd shagged. He'd moved her into his house! He spoke of being _with_ her. And she loved him.

Didn't she?

"We're together, Draco," she said, her confusion evident in her tone as she spoke despite her efforts to appear collected. "Harry and I… it wasn't just a one time thing. It wasn't just a shag."

"Oh..."

"I thi—I love him." Hermione lifted her eyes from her hands, expecting to look into his grey gaze, but instead of the beautiful molten silver she'd stared at all morning, she saw crisp, cold steel. Her breath was sucked from her lungs at the impact of his apathetic stare, his face muted of any emotion.

Draco stood from the bed, her words echoing in his mind as he put much needed physical distance between them. She loved Potter? She _loved_ him? How the bloody hell would she know what love was? She'd just spent years under the influence. She couldn't know love from lust at this point! Beyond that, this feeling that flowed between them wasn't something to ignore. He knew she felt it; he could see if in the way she flushed at his touch. The way she leaned into him. The way her eyes would soften when he spoke, resembling melted Honeydukes' chocolate dripped over an ice-cream cone on a hot summer's day. She felt it just the same as he did, so why was she willing to cast it aside so easily?!

His hand rose, fingers carding through his sleep-rumpled hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "You can't sleep with him," he said quickly, his mind still reeling from the sudden withdrawal of the magic.

"What?"

"Harry. You cannot sleep with him again." Draco slipped his hands into his trouser pockets as he turned to face her, teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously while he watched her. "I came back to help because I care. But the rule still stands: you cannot be with him."

Hermione pushed the comforter off her legs, and she swung them off the bed until her toes hit the cold wooden floor. "I am an adult, Draco. I am capable of making decisions about who I date or… or shag for that matter."

"I am not arguing that you possess the ability to _make_ those choices, but I am telling you that you cannot. Not while you're recovering," Draco clarified. "You are not ready for that type of physical intimacy. Not yet. Not when you're healing."

"That makes no sense! Who I date has nothing to do with— with drinking or…" The words rolled around in her mouth. Bitter and contrite. She could admit to the liquor. She could admit to sleeping with Charlie, but admitting she was addicted to Dragon's Breath felt impossible. Even though he knew of her faults, it felt as though verbalizing all of them would make Draco suddenly realise how fucked up she truly was.

"With taking Dragon's Breath?" Draco finished for her, his words eviscerating the last of the evaporating magic within her, pushing her back into darkness "If you can't even say it, then clearly my point is proven. As that particular rule has everything to do with your vices. Relationships are complicated—even for people without addiction issues. What do you think would happen if something between you and Potter failed? Do honestly think you wouldn't turn to the bottle again? Or go pop by your old friend's place to pick up a few pills?"

"Stop." Hermione's voice quivered, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she dropped her eyes to the floor. He was far from wrong—she knew this even now—but his delivery was harsh, clearly intent on inflicting pain.

"Then throw sex in there. You know, the same thing you used to trade for those pills—"

"Draco, stop."

"—you're not bloody ready to deal with the ramifications if something went wrong! You drank an entire bottle of fire whiskey as a result of being left alone—"

"Stop it!" Hermione snapped, and her magic pulsed from her, sending a shockwave of corporeal silver wisps across the floor that knocked everything in their path askew. Rising from the bed, she kept her balled fists at her sides as she lifted her gaze to find his, her jaw setting. "My relationship with Harry is non-negotiable. I will follow every arbitrary rule you set. I will go where you ask. I will even climb up a fucking mountain again if you truly think it will help me. But I've spent the past nine bloody years wishing Harry would come back into my life, and I refuse not to give this feeling between him and I a chance."

She watched his Adam's apple run the length of his neck, his nostrils flaring as he tamped his emotions down. Mentally, she readied herself for battle, prepared to dig her heels in and die on this hill should she need to. She needed Draco's help— she, Harry, and even Draco all knew it—but she _needed_ Harry as well. While she was prepared to fight, but what she was not prepared for was what he said next.

"Fine," Draco said through gritted teeth. "You can _date_ him if that's what you wish, but there will be no physical relations. Under any circumstances," he stipulated, grey eyes flashing with fire. "I will not leave you, but should I find this rule to be broken, our stay within Grimmauld Place will come to an abrupt end. Do you understand me?"

Hermione hesitated, eyes narrowing on the wizard. While the Gryffindor side of her personality wanted to tell him to sod off and yell that he had no control over that aspect of her life, her logic told her it was for the best. Perhaps Harry and she had rushed into something that, while years in the making, should be navigated methodically considering the situation they found themselves in. "Okay."

Draco nodded eyes still stormy with unspoken words as he looked at her from across the room, and they stood in silence for a few moments, the tension thick between them. The distant comfort of their embrace through her warzone of emotions from last night was fading fast, leaving little trace of their shared magic. The same magic they were both choosing to ignore.

As far as Draco was concerned, Hermione had made her choice. She'd made her intentions perfectly clear. She'd chosen Potter—and while he didn't necessarily blame her, the sting still hurt. Like a rogue bludger to chest, it stole the air from his lungs and left a bruise that would likely not fade for weeks, if not longer, because it meant that Potter would also not be his. While he did not agree with her choice, he was going to be damned if he would sit by idly and ignore whatever it was that flowed between them.

"I'm going to go get ready for the day," he broke the lingering silence, his tongue running across his bottom lip. "You should do the same. I've taken the liberty of choosing your outfit today. You'll find it in the bathroom."

"You're choosing my outfits now?" Hermione questioned, her tone boarding on defensive.

"Hardly," Draco shot back as he turned towards the bedroom door. His hand curled around the cold metal knob, and he twisted it before pulling the door open. "But seeing as we will be visiting Diagon Alley with the intention of getting photos of you in the _Prophet_ , I needed to make sure they focus on your deeds as opposed to your dreadful attire. So do make a point of taming your hair as best you can; today needs to be perfect," he said quickly before exiting, not bothering to look at it her or give her the opportunity to argue before he left the room.

The heavy wooden door followed him as he exited her room, closing behind him with a resounding snap. He moved quickly down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood flooring as he moved to the guest bedroom on the opposite end of the hall. Once inside, he leaned back against the door, his hand lifting to cover his face, his fingernails scraping across his scalp as he fisted his hair and let out a quiet growl in frustration.

* * *

"You can't be serious." Harry's spine straightened as he crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers tightly wrapping around his biceps. He might be sleep deprived, but he was certain he had not misheard the wizard. Draco had roused him from his sleep nearly an hour ago to discuss his and Hermione's living arrangements and the rules for their courtship, a conversation that Harry was entirely unprepared for considering he was still wearing his trousers and undershirt from the night before and running on only four hours of sleep.

"I'm not sure which part of this conversation could be construed as anything but serious," Draco said as he adjusted the collar of his oxford in the mirror that hung in the sitting room, not bothering to break his concentration on what he was doing to turn and face Harry.

"Well, for starters, the part where you're dictating the pace of my relationship with my… with my…" Harry's voice trailed off, his brow furrowing as the words got lost on his tongue. His what? What was Hermione? His girlfriend? His friend? Both? More?

"Your girlfriend?" Draco supplied as he reached up to feather some of his blond fringe back into place. "Merlin, Potter. You do realise if you can't even say it, then you two probably shouldn't even be considering what you're attempting."

"Oh, piss off," Harry snapped with a roll of his eyes.

The corner of Draco's lips tugged in a smirk as he watched Harry bristle in the mirror. Even though it had been years since they'd had their schoolyard spats, Draco couldn't help but feel almost victorious about getting under Harry's skin. "Unfortunately, I will not be going anywhere anytime soon." Grey eyes flicked back to his reflection, and he checked his attire one final time before he turned to face Harry. "Funnily enough, either will you—with relation to your bedroom affairs, that is."

"Hermione will never agree to this, you know?" Harry said as he moved across the sitting room, and he sat down in the high back armchair in front of the fireplace.

"I hope you're not a betting man because you'd surely lose." Draco laughed as he moved to the couch across from Harry and sat down, careful not to rumple his pressed oxford and trousers. "I discussed it this morning with her, and she was in agreement."

Harry's jaw fell, eyes widening in disbelief as he looked at Draco. Hermione agreed to… but why? What they did behind closed doors should have little bearing on her work with Draco. His mouth worked silently as he tried to formulate a response—to say anything that would be able to articulate just how he felt about this new rule—but all he could come up with was a million things he shouldn't say.

"You will have plenty of time to explore your more carnal delights with her later," Draco began as he crossed one long leg over the other. "For now, your hand will have to suffice."

"You're just jealous!" Harry said quickly, his cheeks crimsoning.

"Come again?" Draco cocked a brow, his lips thinning.

"You heard me. You're just jealous." Harry leaned forward as he whispered, glancing to the entryway into the sitting room before back to the blond wizard, making sure the coast was clear for him to speak freely. "You're making shite up because you're jealous of… of—"

"You think I'm jealous?" Draco sneered, grey eyes widening infinitesimally with his question. "Who exactly would I be jealous of, Potter? Seeing as I'm the one getting to spend time with her. It sounds to me like you might be the envious one."

Harry scoffed, pushing himself forward in his chair until he was perched on the edge, his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs when he leaned closer so Draco could hear his hushed tones clearly. "You're jealous of her, you prat. Stop acting like we didn't have a moment back in that cottage."

"A moment of weakness, maybe." Draco scoffed as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled it open before leaning towards Harry, only the coffee table separating them. "Let me make one thing clear, Potter. While I might fuck you, I do not wish to _date_ you. You're like one of those shitty paintings that hangs in a Muggle museum: from far away you're appealing, but every bloody time I get close, I realise how poorly put together you are."

Harry's cheeks reddened, emerald eyes lighting with fire as his jaw set. "You're lying." Harry whispered, his lips pulling up in a hint of a snarl. "You want me. You miss what we had, and that time on the porch wasn't just for my pleasure, was it?" Harry questioned as he arched a brow over the rim of his glasses.

Despite his efforts to remain devoid of any emotion, Draco's cheeks tinted pink, his nostrils flaring in response to Harry's question, but he didn't utter a single word.

Harry could feel a pulse deep within his core, like a siren's song calling him to shove the table aside and show Draco just how wrong he was. How he could make Draco keen for his touch. How he could break him apart with just a single kiss. His palms pressed on the coffee table as he involuntarily moved to close the distance between them, not daring to break their eye contact. Just as his knee pressed against the side of the table, the sound of footsteps coming down the hall snapped him back to reality.

"Draco, are you sure this is— Oh!" Hermione's eyes widened as she entered the sitting area, her hands still adjusting the cowl neck of the cream jumper Draco had left out for her on the bathroom counter. Her hair had been spelled dry, and artfully curled into thick, loose waves that hung down the middle of her back, only the front fringe pinned back with hidden bobby pins. "Everything okay?" she questioned slowly, noting the way both Harry and Draco seemed to be avoiding looking at the other despite sitting directly across from each other.

"Everything's fine," Harry lied.

"Of course," Draco agreed, pushing up from the couch, quickly moving to button his jacket, his hands smoothing out the lapels on his blazer. "Potter and I were just discussing last week's Quidditch match."

Hermione looked between the two, her brow furrowing. "Uh huh…" she said slowly, her fingers releasing their hold on the oversized collar. "Right… anyway, are you sure this is… well, appropriate for a trip to the Alley? It feels rather extravagant."

"Extravagant? Granger, you're wearing a pair of trousers and a jumper. You're hardly going to a gala." Draco laughed as he moved to stand near the fireplace.

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes, giving the blond wizard a small shake of her head as she moved closer to Harry, who had risen from the couch at her approach. "Honestly, how do I look?" she whispered as she reached him, her hands nervously tugging at the length of the jumper, trying to pull it further down her body.

Harry reached out, his hands covering hers, stilling her movements as he smiled. While it was far from the poshest outfit he'd ever seen her wear, it was decidedly more upscale than her normal attire. She was wearing black fitted trousers with the cream jumper and a pair of black strappy heels. The clean, classic lines of her clothes were obviously selected with intent, because paired with the light splash of makeup she had applied, Hermione looked effortlessly flawless. Like she wasn't trying to impress the paparazzi that was sure to be waiting for her.

"Honestly?" Harry's eyes ran the length of her outfit once more, making a point to let her see his assessment. "You look beautiful."

Hermione blushed, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to smother her smile. "Thanks." Her hands gave his a small squeeze as she spoke. "You look—"

"Dashingly handsome?" Harry teased, giving her the goofy grin she had come to know so well during their childhood.

"Like shite." She laughed, her nose wrinkling as his smile widened. Reaching up, she tugged playfully on a particularly unruly strand of hair that stood proudly on the top of his head.

Harry's hands went to her waist, pulling her close until their hips brushed. "Ouch, 'Mione. You wound me," he teased, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss against her cheek before moving his lips to her ear so he could whisper, "Are you sure you're up for this? I can tell Malfoy to sod off, and we can just lay in bed all day."

Hermione leaned into his embrace until she could feel his heart beat thump against her chest. Her eyes drifted closed as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the calming aroma of his day old cologne. She allowed herself a moment to get lost in the feeling. The way his arms wound around her ushered in a wave of caring magic instantly calmed the wild in her soul, and while normally she felt as if something was missing, this time she felt whole.

"We haven't got all day, Granger," Draco called from the fireplace, the distinct jingle of him checking his wrist watch accompanying the statement.

She could feel Harry bristle, the muscles in his shoulders and back tightening at Draco's words. Her hand moved from Harry's shoulder and gently pressed against his stubbled cheek, turning his head towards hers as she leaned up on her toes to brush her lips against his in hopes of defusing whatever tension that brewed between them. "I'll be fine," she assured him, her lips ghosting over his before she pulled back, slowly untangling her arms from his. "Enjoy your quiet time… and maybe take a shower," she teased as she backed up toward the fireplace.

Harry bit his bottom lip, his right hand moving to ruffle his hair while his left tucked into his trouser pocket. "Alright, but only because you suggested it."

Draco scoffed, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "Merlin, you two are dating, not bloody under Amortentia," he murmured under his breath. When Hermione reached his side, he held out his arm towards her, his head cocking slightly, a silently question if she would take it.

"Be nice," Hermione whispered, her arm linking with the blond wizard's as she moved to the tiled hearth, thankful for his help stabilizing her in the dreadful heels he'd selected this morning.

"When have I ever been nice?" Draco questioned as he reached into the Floo pot that sat on the mantle and withdrew a small handful of the bright green powder. As he tossed it into the low embers of the dying fire, the rushing sound of the magic igniting filled the room, and the small flickering embers grew into roaring flames.

Hermione sighed with a roll of her eyes. While she did wish the pair would be more amicable, she couldn't help but wonder what happened to snap the peace between them. Was it her relapse? Or perhaps she had never noticed the tension between them in the cottage because she had been so focused on being upset about the entire situation. Whatever the case was, she knew she couldn't allow herself to spend much time figuring out their dynamic because she was moments away from walking down Diagon Alley with a man who had disappeared from the British wizarding world nearly a decade ago. If her own notoriety wasn't going to grab the attention of the photographers, she was positive being with him would.

Draco reached out with his free hand and gently took Hermione's from his forearm so he could press against her lower back to usher her into the flames. His pinky pressed dangerously low on her back, causing the spark of magic to burst to life inside him. As he stepped into the green flames, he made sure to cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder to Harry, knowing full well the wizard would interpret his actions poorly. While age had brought him maturity, it had obviously not taken away his need to one up the boy wonder. "Diagon Alley!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I'm just finished up chapter 15, and will be starting 16 here soon. Trying to get a good lead on this story, but sometimes the words fail me.

Hope you like this update. let me know what you think!

Follow me on Tumblr ms-merlinblack


	15. The Alley

**Trigger Warning: Panic Attacks**

* * *

Hermione's heart beat felt like a runaway freight train as it thundered painfully beneath her chest. She and Draco had made it through the Leaky with little incident. None of the patrons seemed to notice the pair as they navigated to the entrance of Diagon Alley, but the second they stepped foot on the cobblestone street she could feel eyes upon them. As if at once, the busy bustle of business died, and it felt like everyone froze to gawk at them.

She knew it was coming, how could she not? She had been stared at for years now. But even with all the mental preparation, the devastating wave of anxiety washed over her, sending her back to the same mental state she had been in months prior. She was worthless. They were waiting for her to fail. Ready to mock her misery. Her feet turned to cement blocks, and she stumbled at Draco's side, tripping over the mountains of invisible baggage that she carried with her.

They had barely made it past two shops when Draco felt her falter. Even if her gait had not shrunk, he would have known she was in distress. It was as if he could physically feel her anxiety—like his magic was attuned to what she was feeling. One moment everything was fine, until it suddenly wasn't. He needed to calm her down, reign in her runaway emotions, and help center her back to reality, but he couldn't do it here. Not in the middle of the bloody street.

With a quick look at the shops around them, he pulled Hermione into the closest building as a tidal wave of anxiety radiated from her body and into his, its crushing waves drowning even him as he ushered her out of the street. Making his way past the register, Draco shouted a quick mention of needing to use the loo to the shop keep as he navigated them past the hooting cages of owls and through the tiny walkway lined with bags upon bags of avian treats toward the tiny washroom he knew sat at the back of the store.

"Breathe," Draco said as he pressed her against the wall, finally behind a closed door, his hands firm on her shoulders, applying pressure to ground her to reality, hoping to pull her from the dark depths of anxiety. "In through your nose, out through your mouth," he instructed, gray eyes swirling with concern, causing his brow to knit as he watched her emotions flutter across her face like words on a page. She was so expressive, even in her despair. It was no wonder the tabloids lived to discuss the downfall of Hermione Granger; she made it easy for them to capture her moments of weakness.

"I can't breathe," Hermione gasped as she lifted her hands to wrap tightly around each of his wrists, clinging to them as if they were her life raft and she lost at sea. Her eyes were glazed over, lost in the fog of panic. Her skin felt aflame, like she was running a 38 degree fever, and the room began to spin. She couldn't do this. She should be at home—with Harry _and_ Draco. Locked away, hidden from the outside world until she was ready—if she were ever ready to deal with it all ever again. Grimmauld Place was safe, now that they were both with her. "I-I ca-an't—"

"Yes you can," Draco interrupted her, his right hand lifting from her shoulder to cup her jaw, tilting her head back so she could look him in the eye. "Just slow down…breathe. It's okay. It's going to be alright." He kept his voice calm, low and melodic as he spoke, desperately willing her to come out of the panic-induced fog he was moments away from losing her in as he felt his magic intertwine with hers, coaxing her back to him. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. You're okay."

"I can't!" Hermione gasped. It felt as if the world was caving in. The weight of the crumbling universe was pushing on her chest so tightly that it felt like she couldn't fill her lungs properly. She was sure she was going to die if she wasn't careful. Gasping for air, she dug her nails into the crisp oxford he wore, her body beginning to tremble. She needed to escape—run away. Go back to Grimmauld Place. Go back to the safety of Harry's arms, and Draco's touch. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes unbidden, streaming across her flushed cheeks, mixing with the thin layer of sweat that had begun to form on her fevered skin. Her eyes slammed shut as she took rasping breaths, hyperventilating through her panic as she tried to catch her breath.

"Hermione, you _can!_ " Draco repeated firmly, gray eyes dripping with concern as he watched her retreat into herself. He was losing her. He knew that if he didn't act fast he would have to cancel the meeting and again nurse her back from the demons that lingered in her soul. What hurt worse than watching her crumble was knowing exactly what she was going through. For he'd been there before–lost in a sea of emotions that felt far too big to belong to just one person.

He'd lived in that headspace for nearly six years. A constant cocktail of alcohol and drugs was required to numb the pain he'd suppressed for so long. By the time he actually forced himself to deal with his issues nearly four years ago, they had swelled into hurricane-like forces that stole the breath from his lungs and took the strength from his knees. He'd nearly drowned trying to stay afloat through the chaos that sobriety induced, but he'd made his way through. He'd found the proverbial light on the other side of the darkness, and saw his mistakes were just that: misguided actions from a broken little boy. He needed to show her that it would be okay. That she would make it through the hardest part of her recovery and he would be by her side through the process.

Leaning in, Draco pulled her into his arms, the hand on her cheek holding her against his chest, while his other arm snaked around her middle. He pressed his body into hers, sandwiching her between the wall and himself. He knew from experience the pressure would calm her runaway emotions. Even though she fought for air, the tight embrace would provide a resistance she needed to remember that the world had physical boundaries her mind had forgotten about.

It wasn't romantic, or sexual. There was no fever in his touch as he held her despite her feeble attempts to push him away as she cried for relief. "You're okay. Just breathe," he repeated, wincing as she scratched and pushed at his chest and arms.

"L-let me go!" she screamed, her throat raw from her cries. Everything was caving in. The perimeter of her vision was blurring to black. She wasn't going to make it. She was going to die in this room and all he was doing was holding her back from freedom.

"I've got you, Hermione," she could hear him whisper, his hot breath pricking the baby fine hairs on the side her cheek. "Just relax. Let go. I've got you."

"D-Draco, Stop! Please stop!" She could feel everything cave in, her gasps turned to coughing as she felt her throat tighten, her lungs burning with unused oxygen as she felt him press her harder against the wall until there was not an ounce of space that separated them. "Dr-Draco, please!"

The pressure inside her chest built, expanding and pushing against her soul until it finally snapped, like a rubber band pulled too tight. Instantly, all of her fight left her and her body sagged into his, her hands curled loosely on his chest as she pressed her forehead over his heart, her tears spilling into his shirt, soaking the fine material. Instead of caving in to it, the pressure simply lifted from her—escaping her body and as the panic receded, she could feel Draco's magic take its place.

Warmth. Comfort. Love, even. She felt all of her doubts and fears slip away, replaced by an unexplainable adoration that her body had begun to crave. She felt his magic intertwine with hers, bringing light into the darkest parts of her soul as she cried in his arms. It no longer felt like he was holding her captive by pinning her to the wall, but instead it was like he was anchoring her to what was real. This feeling between them, the fact that he was still here, accepting her despite what he already knew. _He_ was real. And he wasn't going to leave.

The enigmatic comfort of his body pressing into hers calmed her heartbeat to a slow tempo. Steady and strong, it matched the pace in which his own thumped inside his chest. She leaned into him, allowing him to be her strength as the last of her tears spilled from her eyes, splashing against his shirt.

Turning her head, she lay her cheek against his collarbone, the tip of her nose nudging his adam's apple as she clung to him, hoping to use his strength to build her own. She didn't dare speak and ruin this moment between them. Instead she listened to the sound of his inhale and exhale, using it as a guide for her own breathing. It was only once she'd calmed down, she realised the soft murmur that acted as a backdrop to the sound of him breathing was actually words he was whispering to her as he held her.

"I've got you...I'm right here. I'll always be here."

Latching onto the lifeline of his words, she soaked in his praise and the comfort of his magic until she felt strong enough to lift her head from his neck so she could look at his face once more. Her cheeks were still pink with exertion as she sniffled, her hand moving to brush her sleeve under her nose like a small child. It was only then she could put her finger on this feeling that filled her under his touch. She felt protected. Loved. Taken care of. The same sort of feeling that she could remember as a kid when she'd hug her parents, or when her mother would kiss her skinned knee. It was an undying affection that felt so incredibly foreign after it being absent from her life for so many years.

She stared into his eyes for what felt like an eternity, watching the way the gray seemed to be molten silver. Vivid and warm, it swirled around his irises, mirroring the way his magic flowed through her body. "Thank you," she whispered, finally breaking the silence, her voice soft and small, as if afraid she would say the wrong thing and break the spell they were both under.

Draco gave a single nod in response, the softest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth at her words. Reaching up, his thumb swept across her tear-stained cheek as he cupped her face once more. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for half a second as she gave in to his magic. She allowed him to angle her head back, so when she opened her eyes once more he was looking directly into them, as if peering into her soul to make sure everything was okay.

"I'll be here the whole time," he said after a moment. "I won't let anything happen, you know that, right?"

Hermione's heart soared at his words. Whether he knew it or not, he spoke directly to her greatest fears, easing the wild that ran rampant through every fiber of her being until it was replaced with an inexplicable tranquility. She nodded in response as she felt the last of her anxiety fade away into nothing. Her limbs felt heavy as she slid her hands across his chest and looped her arms loosely around his shoulders, letting her fingers brush against the hair on the back of his neck. This unspoken bond lingered between them, filling the little space between their bodies, calling her toward him—begging for their magic to bond the way hers had with Harry. The want she felt for Draco wasn't just physical. It was spiritual, like her magic required not only a part of Harry's, but his as well to become whole.

A spark ignited in her core and it seemed he felt the same pull, for his eyes dilated in the artificial light of the bathroom. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him lean down towards her. The world felt like it was moving in slow motion; she could hear every beat of her heart echo like stones dropped down a well, every crumple of fabric as his body pressed into hers once more and suddenly his lips were on hers. His lips felt as soft as silk as he brushed them cross hers, tempting her with the promise of something that was most decidedly forbidden.

Her right hand moved to his neck, anchoring him in place as she rose up on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips against his more firmly. Electricity ran through her body, starting from where their lips touched and continuing down through her veins. She could feel the pulse of his magic in the tips of her fingers and toes, pulsating like a siren's song. Long forgotten was the anxiety and the torment of her past, instead her mind filled with thoughts of _him_ -this flaxen haired man who had once been an enemy but was now her saviour. How right this felt—and how she wanted much more than just a simple kiss.

Hermione's mouth parted, and her tongue brushed across the seam of Draco's lips, tasting the smoky forbidden flavor of his skin, before he allowed their kiss to deepen. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt his hands curl around her hip bones, guiding her back until she was pressed against the wall once more. Their tongues brushed against one another, his mouth slanting across hers as he pulled little noises from the back of her throat. And just as she began to slide her fingers through the clipped locks on the back of his head, she felt him step away, leaving her body singing for more as he broke their kiss just as quickly as it began.

She watched him in silence, dazed from the drug that was his magic, her kiss-swollen lips parted as she took short breaths to calm her once again racing heart. Her hand rose, fingers brushing across her bottom lip, trying to feel the tingle of magic that lingered on her skin as she attempted to collect her thoughts.

Draco had taken several steps back until he was pressed against the opposite wall. His eyes were closed, hiding the beautiful silver hue she longed for. He was taking deep, rattling breaths that caused his nostrils to flare as his hands rose to rub across his face.

"H-Hermione…" his voice cracked as he looked back up to her, his pupils blown wide with desire despite ending their snog. "We should go…We'll be late for our meeting if we linger much longer."

Despite his yearning to press her up against the washroom wall and find his bliss in the pillow softness of her lips, he told himself to ignore it. Ignore the pulse of magic that thrummed inside him like a harp's string each time she drew near. Ignore the way her body sang for him with a simple touch. Ignore the way he could still taste her on his lips. He was playing a dangerous game and if he wasn't careful he was sure to get burned by either Harry or Hermione—or worse yet, both. And as much as he wanted to smother the feelings inside of him, the idea of having both of them sent a thrill of magic straight to the pit of his stomach, igniting the wicked flames that he had been fighting to stay dormant since their time in the cottage.

"O-Okay," she agreed with a small squeak to her voice. The vocal tic caused her cheeks to flush further crimson in embarrassment as she cleared her throat. "Right…the meeting. I nearly forgot."

Draco made the first move towards the door, yanking it open in his rush to flee from the tiny washroom. A rush of autumn air burst into the now too hot room, kissing her skin with its breeze as Draco stepped out, leaving her alone. Hermione cast a fleeting glance at herself in the warped mirror. Even in the distorted reflection, she could see evidence on her face of what had just occurred. Her lips were swollen from his kiss, her skin flush with desire, and her makeup ruined from the combination of her tears and their snog. Pulling her wand from her pocket, she cast a quick beauty charm to help repair her ruined makeup, and she ran her fingers through her frizzled curls in a weak attempt to tame them before she followed him out of the washroom.

She moved up the aisle that Draco had walked down, stepping over the stray bags of treats, and trying to avoid the owl droppings that littered the floor. As she passed the shop keep, she gave the witch a weak smile in thanks before slipping from the building, the bell that hung on the door signaling her exit to the blond wizard who stood waiting outside.

Draco glanced over his shoulder at her. Gone was the emotion that lit his features moments earlier, and in its place was the calm and collected expression of the wizard she had come to know over the past two months. If she had not known what happened between them just moments earlier, she would think nothing was out of the ordinary, for he appeared as put together as he had been the moment they'd Floo'd from Grimmauld Place.

"Ready?" he questioned with a small hitch of his brow, his arm extending towards her just as he had on Harry's hearth.

"Ready," she returned as she looped her arm with his, setting her hand on his forearm over where she knew his Dark Mark lay. As they began down the Alley, through the growing crowd that was exiting shops to catch a view of the odd couple, she felt his hand come to lay over hers, his thumb stroking across her knuckles reassuringly.

As they passed Madam Malkin's a burst of bright light caught her eye in the back of the crowd. Her hand lifted to shield her eyes as more lights began to burst to life around them, and suddenly the crowd turned from casual shoppers turned onlookers, to paparazzi, desperate for a bit of gossip. The photographers shouted over one another, making it so no actual question could be heard. The burst of bulbs flashing sounded akin to the defensive spells she used during the war as they echoed off the old stone buildings.

Her chin dropped as she lifted her arm to shield herself from the reporters, her body hunching over as she turned into Draco's arm that moved around her shoulders. She could make out the rumbled baritone of his voice as he navigated them through the crowd.

"Back up!" he shouted to the paparazzi that had begun to swarm around them like leprechauns to gold, trying their best to disorient the couple with the flash from their cameras so they could catch them on film as they faltered. "We have a meeting. We will permit photos once we come out, but please back up!"

Hermione followed his lead, not daring to lift her head towards the jeering crowd, pushing through the swarm of reporters until a familiar chime jingled as they entered a shop. The sound of the crowd faded as the door closed behind them, replaced by the calm scribble of quill on parchment and the sound of someone striking keys on a register. Even if she were unable to hear the familiar ambiance of what used to be her favorite store in all of Diagon Alley, she would have known exactly where Draco had taken her simply by the smell that wafted around her. Fresh parchment, soft leather, and a hint of mothballs.

* * *

Flourish and Blott's was exactly how she remembered. The overflowing rows of books that spilled into tottering stacks at the end of every aisle. A controlled chaos. When Draco walked her through the front door earlier, she could hardly contain the electric excitement that immediately filled her body. It had been ages since she set foot in the shop—five years, maybe longer if she had to guess. Far too long for a bibliophile to be parted from their most favored vice of choice, but then again, she had used other vices, hadn't she? Her world had been filled with things other than books over the past several years. Alcohol. Dragon's Breath. Men. Anything that would make her forget. Numb the pain. And while books did take her mind off the ache, they never truly made it disappear. Not like a stiff drink.

Draco had set up a meeting with Terry Boot—the latest proprietor of the infamous bookstore. Unbeknownst to her, this meeting had been on the books for several weeks. It was supposed to be her first outing from the cottage, marking her return home, but obviously she and Harry had upset the timeline with their actions.

During their stay at the cottage, Draco had begun planning her reintroduction to Wizarding Society, which included several photo opportunities of her performing charity work to help clean her public image.

As much as she longed to roam the aisles, and get lost in her own personal reintroduction to the shop she had forgotten about in the haze of her addiction, Draco had been quick to escort her through the shop and to the back office for her meeting.

The meeting was brief. Simply a rehashing of Draco and Terry's correspondence, as well as a signing of the contract that Draco had his assistant draft. The premise was simple: she was to sign copies of Abriam Bagshot's _'The Second Rise and Fall of Tom Riddle: How Three Teenagers Shaped Our World'_. There was a small fee for her autograph—five sickles—and all of the proceeds collected from her signing, as well as a small percentage of the book sales, would go to St. Mungo's, specifically, The Janus Thickey Ward, where many of the victims of Death Eater attacks had been sequestered to post-war.

As Draco explained, the plan was mutually beneficial. Terry would not only see a small increase in profit from the sales of Bagshot's book the day of the signing, but Flourish and Blott's would also be associated with a cause that was important to many of its customers, thus hopefully leading to a long-term uptick in sales. Hermione, meanwhile, would get a chance to be positively spoken of in the press, while supporting an important cause, a vast difference from her more recently covered, drug-fuelled exploits.

"Thank you, Terry," Draco said as he stood up from the stiff wooden chair once the Ravenclaw had finished signing the contract that magically sealed their agreement. "You've made this exchange easy," he said as he leaned across Terry's worn oak desk, his hand extended towards the wizard.

"No need to thank me, Malfoy." The dark-haired wizard waved his hand at Draco before standing up. "I'm happy to help." As he spoke his assurance, he made a point to catch Hermione's eye, as if to point out exactly who the favor was for. He might have been negotiating with Draco, but it was obvious he was only doing this because of his connection to Dumbledore's Army and to her. Leaning over his desk, Terry took Draco's extended palm, giving it a firm shake.

Hermione's tongue ran across her lips before she forced a small smile on her lips. She was glad to see Terry—she truly was, and genuinely excited for this opportunity to help St. Mungo's after all the years of receiving care from them, but she couldn't help but feel the pull of nervous energy that seemed to cloud everything around her. She had just fucked up, literally only the night before—what was preventing her from ruining this as well?

The more they spoke about the details of her signing, the more the doubt seeped in and eviscerated the blissful ignorance she felt after her unplanned kiss with Draco. Attempting to push aside her self doubt, Hermione cleared her throat nervously, pulling attention from both wizards in the cramped office. "You know, Terry, I always loved Flourish and Blott's," Hermione said as stood from her chair, her hands nervously smoothing out the cream jumper against her stomach. "So, thank you. This means a lot—you taking a chance on me."

"I'm well aware of your adoration for books, Hermione. It was far from a secret back at Hogwarts," Terry teased as he withdrew his hand from Draco's grip. He moved languidly around his desk and scooted between both Draco and her to lean back on his table, crossing his legs at his ankles casually. "My aunt might have mentioned your frequent visits a time of two over holidays. She was a fan of yours well before the end of the war, you know? She would have signed off on this as well."

As if on queue, memories of her time spent in the shop flooded back as a genuine smile curled her lips. She had been introduced to Madam Ruo—Terry's late great aunt—during her very first visit to Diagon Alley with Headmistress McGonagall. She was an elderly witch, easily well in her hundreds. A head full of salt and pepper hair, and a twinkle in her dark eyes that had told Hermione she was as crafty as they came. Madam Ruo saw something in her, even all those years ago, and had taken a liking to Hermione nearly instantly. She would often turn a blind eye to her prolonged stays in the bookstore over the summer holiday, and on more than one occasion when Hermione could not finish the book she was reading during her visits, she would gift her the book.

Hermione had always liked the elderly witch, which is why news of her death that reached her camp during of the war felt like a blow to her heart. The wizarding community had lost a truly cherished member of their community, but more importantly, Hermione had lost a friend. When the news broke over the Wizarding Wireless Network she hadn't even allowed herself to focus on the impact of losing such an integral figure. At the time so many people had met death and were ushered into the great beyond, she simply couldn't allow herself to weep. Not while so much had been at stake, and especially not while on the run.

Looking back now she almost felt selfish for not mourning Madam Ruo. Especially considering the favor the older witch had had for her was likely one of the reasons Terry was willing to take the risk of accepting this book signing. "Your aunt was a wonderful lady," Hermione said as she looked back up to her former schoolmate from where she had let her gaze fall to her feet. "I never got to send my condolences to your family…I'm sorry."

Terry shrugged, planting his hands on either side of his hips against the table top. "It's been nearly a decade, Hermione. You're quite alright. Just…don't make me regret agreeing to this, yeah?"

Draco, who had remained silent during their exchange, seemed to puff up in an almost protective manner at Terry's request. The blond wizard moved quickly, stepping in between her and Terry, blocking the former Ravenclaw from looking directly at her. "Feel free to address your concerns with me, Boot. I believe I have already assured you, _numerous_ times, that this would be handled with the utmost professionalism. You've seen my references, and know I am good for my word."

Terry looked at Draco, his brow wrinkling in what could only be described as confusion as he tried to determine how the mood had shifted so suddenly from friendly to nearly hostile. " _Your_ references are impeccable, Malfoy. But it is no secret that Hermione's been…"

"Been what?" Draco seethed, his jaw setting.

Terry glanced over Draco's shoulder, offering the hint of a sympathetic smile before he continued. "Been kind of a mess lately. No offense."

"A mess?" Draco's voice dropped an octave, and even from behind Hermione could see his fingers flex.

Hermione reached out, her hand curling around Draco's elbow. "None taken," she interjected before Draco could continue. "I've had some troubles lately, but I'm getting better—with Draco's help…and Harry's."

"Potter?" Terry questioned, his brows lifting in surprise. "Wow…alright. Didn't think you two were still friends," he mused as his arms crossed over his chest.

"You clearly have an issue, because it seems not thinking is a running character defect of yours," Draco murmured under his breath.

"Yes, I still see Harry," Hermione said quickly, pinching the soft skin in the inside of Draco's elbow in warming. "But you're right. I have been a mess. I'm fixing it, and I can assure you that the signing will happen with no complications."

Terry glanced between the two, pursing his lips as if trying to determine the nature of the relationship between Draco and Hermione. With a small shrug, Terry let out a small sigh and he nodded. "Alright. Well, I suppose this means I'll see you in two weeks?"

Draco gave a terse nod, his lips thinning. "You will. I will send an owl with your copy of the contract by tomorrow." Withdrawing his wand from his pocket, he gave a small flourish before pointing it at the parchment on Terry's desk. Wisps of vibrant green magic spilled from the tip and enveloped the contract before it disappeared with a loud _pop._

Once sent to his assistant, Draco turned on his heel, his hand going to curl around Hermione's forearm, and he guided her backwards to the office door with a quick mumble of, "We will be in contact should any amendments need to be made."

Hermione lifted her free hand toward Terry who watched Draco's rapid retreat with a confused cock of his head, and just as she was out of the office, she heard him call her name.

"Hermione!" Terry stood from his lean, his hands sliding into his trouser pockets. "Do tell Potter hello for me, would you?"

"Uh… sure," Hermione replied before being tugged behind Draco.

" _Tell Potter hello_? Who the bloody hell does Boot think he is?" Draco said under his breath as he pulled Hermione down the hallway, her heels clacking loudly against the aged stone flooring as she struggled to keep up with his long stride. "You're _not_ a bloody mess. Even if you were, saying it to someone's face? Merlin, you would have thought he had more manners than that. He's a bloody Pureblood, for fuck's sake. I have half a mind to write his mother and tell her what sort of man she's raised—"

A wave of protective magic seemed to emanate from where Draco held her arm. She could feel the thrum of his magic run through her body, wrapping its tendrils around her, as if trying to shield her from harm.

"Draco," Hermione said, trying to slow his abrupt departure to no avail. "Draco!" Reaching out she grabbed ahold of his arm, pulling him to a stop just as they reached the stacks of books that made up the back of the shop. "Stop. Are you okay?"

She watched him reel, his body tense with unnecessary anger as he swayed under her touch. She couldn't blame Terry for his request—hell, _she_ wasn't even angry! He had every right to be hesitant , even with Draco's promise. She was a liability—at best— especially considering the last time she had done any sort of book signing, she'd ended up passed out in the bathroom before the first hour was up.

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, silver eyes brimming with fire.

"You're far from fine," Hermione whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Terry hadn't followed before she stepped closer to Draco, the tip of her heels nearly touching his loafers. "Draco…He's not wrong, you know?"

"Of course, I know, but it's not his bloody place to say that sort of thing!" Draco snapped. "Especially to your face, Hermione."

Hermione shrugged, her hand lifting to push back the stray curls that fell around her face. "Draco, if I got upset every time someone spoke ill of me, I would have boiled over with anger ages ago." The truth was, in the beginning it hurt—all the stories the tabloids ran. The way they caused those around her to question her stability. The way she caught the brunt of the reports simply because she was the woman of the group. But now the comments were the lowest rung on the proverbial totem pole of problems in her life. She couldn't care less what Terry thought, because to her, Terry simply didn't matter. He was an acquaintance from yester years. "I'm not saying he was just in how he spoke, but…I guess I'm saying it doesn't matter."

Draco shook his head, clearly having zero intention of listening to reason. "Look, it's my job to help your career, Hermione. What he did was rude and quite frankly, out of line."

"Would you react this way if I were anyone else?" Hermione questioned.

His voice cracked and his brows lifted as her bluntness. "What? That's an absurd question."

"Is it? Because…because Draco, you're acting quite protective," Hermione pointed out, her tongue brushing across her lips nervously. Calling out his behavior hadn't been her plan, but he was acting something akin to a dragon wrapped around its treasure. Snappy and possessive.

"Of course I am acting protective! You're my client," Draco said quickly. Far too quickly for someone who was innocent of her accusation. She might not have spent the past several years around him, but his tells were still the same as they were at Hogwarts. He couldn't look her in the eye, nor would his right hand stop its slight tremble.

"Your client. Right," Hermione laughed, shaking her head as she moved past him towards the main part of the bookstore, her shoulder brushing his as she passed. "Because you snog all your clients in washrooms," she murmured under her breath.

Merlin, help her. This mess she had gotten herself wrapped up in felt greater than what she was prepared to deal with. Between her feelings for Harry, and whatever this was that was brewing between her and Draco, she was quite certain she was going to get whiplash if she continued for much longer.

"Where are you going?" she heard the wizard question, hot on her heels as she moved off the main aisle and began wandering between the rows of books in search of something.

Hermione didn't bother to answer at first, and it wasn't until he'd repeated the question for the third time that she finally relented. "Finding a book, obviously. We _are_ in a bookstore." Hermione glanced over, giving him a pointed look before she turned her attention back to the bookshelf in front of her.

Her fingers walked across the spines of the texts, her mind ticking with the unsung possibilities of the stories that lay inside. For the first time in a long time, she felt the familiar call to get lost inside the pages of a new book. But even as the embers of the girl she used to be began to come to life, she knew she would never be the same. Not after what she had been through. She knew Harry's goal with all of…well, with this- was to have the semblance of the girl he used to know back, but she could never be the same as she was before.

Long lost was the innocent Hermione that craved knowledge through books, and held steadfast onto an age-old innocence. In her place was a woman who had been through war, lost loved ones, been tortured and lived to see the sunrise. A woman who had been more demon than human at one point in time—so consumed in the throes of addiction that she lost whole weeks of her life to chasing a high. She would never be the same—she couldn't.

She could hear Draco huff with impatience behind her as she wound her way through the store in search of something she wasn't quite sure existed in the magical world. It wasn't until she stumbled across a tiny section, only two shelves worth of text on the subject, that she knew she'd found it. Self Help. Or rather, Magical Guidance, as it had been labeled.

Her index finger brushed across the titles of the books, brown eyes rapidly flickering from one to the next. _The 13 Habits of Highly Affluent Wizards_ …no, that wasn't it. _Declutter Your Mind: The Art of Using Occlumency to Relieve Magical Mental Maladies,_ while interesting, definitely not what she was seeking.

Her fingertips paused on top of a lilac colored book, the gold script almost glowing. _Unbroken._ The title was succinct to the point of ambiguity, but it was as if it called to her, asking her to remove it from the shelf.

Pulling the book from the shelf, her brows knit in curiosity as she looked at the cover. It was plain. A simple lilac backdrop with the same elegant gold script on the cover stating the name. There was no author, nothing to indicate who wrote the text. Turning over the book in her hand, she scanned the synopsis on the back curiously, completely unaware of Draco's presence as he leaned over her shoulder to look at what caught her attention.

"That one's okay," he spoke softly, hot breath ticking the hairs next to her ear.

Hermione jumped as she turned her head, finally realizing how close he was. "You've read it?" she questioned, taking a small step forward to put space between them.

Draco nodded, looking past her to the bookshelf and without warning he leaned forward, reaching towards the shelf. His chest pressed against her shoulders, causing the wave of magic to flow between them once more, thrumming and pulsating into her body as he removed two books from the shelf and set them on top of the lilac book in her hands.

"I help addicts for a living, Hermione," Draco said plainly as he stepped back, separating them before either of them could act on the impossible pull of magic. "Of course I've read them. I've read Muggle ones as well, but they tend to be rather contrary to how the Wizarding World deals with these sort of things."

Hermione looked down at the small stack, shifting the books so she could examine the covers, her tongue running across her bottom lip. "Which one do you recommend?" she questioned as she turned around to face Draco, looking up at him through her thick black lashes.

"They're all a good place to start," Draco replied with a small shrug of indifference, his hands sliding into his trouser pockets.

"I can't afford all of them…not right now, at least," Hermione explained, the small hint of a blush staining her cheeks. Her vaults were near empty, and it was only halfway through the month. She wouldn't receive another stipend until the fifth. While living with Harry did mean she didn't have to worry about the cost of food, she still had bills to pay—like the rent on her shitty little flat, and the monthly for her Wizarding Wireless.

She watched as Draco opened and closed his mouth several times without uttering a single syllable, three distinct lines of thought forming on his forehead. His hand rose to push his blond fringe back, ruining the picture-perfect image he'd carefully constructed this morning. "I'll bill them to my family's account," he finally said, gray eyes lifting to find hers.

"Draco, that's not necessary." Hermione could feel her cheeks burn brighter in embarrassment. "I didn't tell you that so—"

"Granger." Draco removed his hand from his hair and held it up to silence her argument. "Don't think me so noble that I won't add the cost onto Potter's tab."

"Oh…" Hermione squeaked, her fingers curling around the books as she pulled them towards her chest. "I guess…that's okay."

"Shall we be going then?" Draco questioned, arching his brow at her. "As much as I am enjoying our little tour of Flourish and Blott's, we have a sea of reporters to address and I still need to feed you lunch before we return to Potter's, as I don't feel like being accused of negligence from your significant other today."

Hermione nodded, clearing her throat as she straightened her spine. Right, the reporters. How could she have forgotten? "Yes. I am finished."

Draco gave her a quick nod before turning on his heel and he began down the narrow aisle, pausing as he reached the end and before he turned to move towards the front of the store, he looked over his shoulder, gray eyes swirling with an emotion she couldn't quite identify. Uncertainty? No, she doubted Malfoy was ever uncertain about anything in his life. Curiosity, perhaps? Whatever emotion it was, it piqued her interest, and as she moved to stand beside him, he withdrew his hand from his trouser pocket and without a single word, reached out and took one of her hands that was cradling the books.

As his fingers laced with hers, a small voice in the back of her mind told her that this shouldn't be happening. And she most certainly shouldn't feel the thrum of magic pulling at her heart strings, but as they moved towards the front of the bookstore with bright flashes of light from the photographers outside peering through the dirty front window, she couldn't for the life of her find one reason she should care. Not when everything between them felt so right.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Thank you for all the kudos, reviews and follows!

Come interact with me on tumblr ms-merlinblack. I answer all asks!

Personal Fanon for those who care: Zhi Rou, Terry's Boots maternal aunt, was the owner of Flourish and Blott's for several decades. She took over ownership of it when her late husband, Amadeus Flourish passed away in the 1970's. They had no children, and she never remarried. During the Second Wizarding War she was attacked (and subsequently killed) due to her stance on refusing to stop selling books to Muggle Born wizards. At the end of the war, the shop was bequeathed to Terry, as he had always been his aunt's favorite nephew due to his love for the written word. Terry never intended to actively run Flourish and Blott's for long, as he had aspired to be a healer, but once he started working in the shop, he realised how important the store was to the Wizarding Community.


	16. Getting Caught

The papers loved her once again.

Or at least it seemed that way. Over the past several weeks, she had followed Draco's regimen to a T: early rise, healthy breakfast, quick work out, shower, dress for the day, and they were off. The only respite she was allowed was in the evenings, and every Sunday he made sure to keep her schedule open, which she had come to look forward to as it meant her day would be spent with Harry. They typically lounged in his bed with a book—though oftentimes not much reading occurred between their snogging and playful banter.

In truth, the past few weeks had felt like a dream. Despite the progress the mind healer said she had made during her bi-weekly therapy sessions—yet another Draco mandate—she still felt as though the rug was going to be yanked out from under her at any moment. But she had to admit the feeling was fading with each passing day.

She found a sense of comfort living with both Draco and Harry. The trio had fallen into an easy routine in Grimmauld Place. Even from the very beginning in the tiny little cottage, it had never felt crowded, and now with the much larger living quarters, she almost missed the closeness she had felt just a short few weeks ago.

"Harry." Hermione didn't lift her eyes from the text she had propped against her bent legs. She'd found an authorized biography of Sarah Goode in the second floor library earlier in the week and had been dying to dig in, but based on the way Harry's hand seemed to be wandering up her thigh under her pyjama shorts, she had a feeling he wasn't keen on allowing her that particular pleasure.

"Hrm?" he replied as he scooted down the bed so he could adjust his reach when his fingertips breached the hem of her shorts. The latest issue of _Quidditch Weekly_ sat open on his pillow, long forgotten.

"I'm trying to read." Her voice was firm, but as he ran a fingertip along the swell between her hamstring and her arse, working towards the delicate skin of her inner thigh, she parted her legs. This was a dangerous game they were playing, with all the wandering hands and heated kisses, but things were different this time. She was seeking counseling twice a week—and even Draco had said she was doing great yesterday after the photoshoot with _Witch Weekly_!

"I know." Harry's breath washed across her skin as he shimmied further down the bed until his head was level with her waist. His fingertip trailed up the inside of her thigh, and when her legs quivered, she heard him chuckle. "You should keep reading," he mused as he slipped his entire hand up her shorts. He placed its warmth over her knickers, his fingers pressing softly against her labia as he dragged his middle finger purposefully across her slit, the tip of his index finger seeking out her clit through the flimsy cotton material.

Hermione gasped, her eyes widening as she stared unseeingly at the words of her book. Her grip on it tightened until she could feel her nails bite into the hard cover, indenting under the pressure. "H-Harry."

Harry chuckled, his hot breath washing over her thighs as he increased the pressure on his finger, stroking her harder. "Keep reading, 'Mione," he instructed again, his voice dropping an octave, holding a tone of authority.

"I am," Hermione breathed, digging her heels into the soft pillow top mattress as she began to rock her hips in time with his ministrations, the book tilting down towards her stomach as her eyes drifted shut.

She felt his other hand slide up her leg and across her inner thigh, causing tremors to run through her limbs. Merlin, this wizard had no idea what he was doing to her—or perhaps he did. For she could feel his magic brush against her own, the comforting thrum of warmth sliding across her soul, beckoning her into playing with him.

Harry moved closer up the bed, edging his way until his shoulders brushed against her parted thighs, his breath washing across her sensitive skin as he slowly removed his hand from her shorts.

A short-lived whine left her throat at the loss of contact but nearly immediately caught in her throat when he used his other hand to pull aside her cotton shorts and knickers, exposing the most intimate part of her body to him.

The book fell flat on her chest, her hands abandoning their hold in favor of gripping the comforter as she craned her neck to look down at the wizard between her parted legs. "Harry?" her voice cracked, unable to keep it steady as felt him part her labia with his forefinger and thumb.

"Yes?" Harry replied, his voice gravely and low already. His tongue darted across his lips briefly before he lifted his eyes up to her face. "Is there a problem?"

Oh sweet merciful Merlin, was there a problem? Of course there wasn't a bloody problem. Unless you counted the fact that he was playing with fire, stretching the line Draco had drawn in the sand with regards to their relationship. When his eyes caught hers, his hot breath tickling the most intimate parts of her body, she nearly came undone. The look in his eyes alone was nearly enough to make her forget every bloody rule Draco had. Instead of voicing protests like she should, she could only make a small squeak in response, her eyes dilated in the soft light of Harry's bedroom, and lust began to cloud her judgement.

Harry's lips lifted in a crooked grin that made her weak in the knees, not breaking her gaze as he lowered his face towards her aching cunt. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion, the lean muscles of her inner thighs already burning from exertion because she was wound so tightly, waiting for him to make a move.

His tongue swept across her pussy, starting just above her entrance and sweeping through her folds until it swirled around her clit, not yet touching her pleasure centre directly, instead focusing on building a fire that was sure to consume her. She could feel his magic swirl into her body, the heady flames flicking their way through her from where his tongue touched her, delivering breath-stealing pleasure.

Hermione's head fell back on the pillow, her right hand moving up to her hairline where her fingers slipped into her curls. She tried to root herself to the earth, afraid she might float away in the erotic delirium he was inducing. Her body hummed with approval, and although she couldn't be positive, she was nearly certain that the breathy little moans that could be heard over the soft crackle of the fire were her own.

"You… taste… bloody amazing." Harry delivered his praise between slow, lazy licks of her pussy. She wasn't aware until that moment that she was a fan of dirty talk in the bedroom. She could literally listen to him recite the alphabet or The Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration and she would feel as transcendent as she did now. She didn't care what exactly he said, instead focusing on the way his words vibrating against her pussy made her toes curl. His tongue finally slipped into her core, twisting and probing her as his nose nudged her clit, causing her to gasp in delight.

She felt his grip on her shorts adjust as he twisted his arm so his elbow pressed into the soft skin on the inside her knee, holding her legs wide open. Despite her resolve to remain boneless for him, she could feel her legs tighten, desperate to wrap around him and hold him to her. His lips wrapped around the top of her mons, his tongue delivering sweeping licks directly to her clit.

His name fell from her lips unbidden. Lost in the fog, one of her hands released its hold on the comforter and carded through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp as she took ahold of the black strands , rooting him into place in case he had any ideas of stopping. "Please," she moaned, her hips trembling in small, rocking motions against his mouth. "Don't stop," she begged.

It didn't take much for Harry to bring her to the edge of climax; it had been weeks since she'd actually gone further than kissing and heavy petting. She could feel that telltale coil in her gut, her muscles tightening until her thighs quivered from the buildup, and just as she was about to beg for him to lick faster or harder, she felt his lips wrap around her clit, and he sucked hard, sending her spiraling over the edge.

A white-hot heat burst behind her eyes, and they slammed shut, her spine arching off the mattress as her hand left her hair, moving to join its mate on his head. His name tumbled from her lips on repeat as if she'd forgotten all other words. She felt like a star exploding, his tongue delivering wickedly decadent flicks to her spasming cunt as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Her magic flowed from her body in every direction, interweaving with his own and seeking to combine with his and fill the room as she cried his name.

Harry slowed his tongue as she began to come down from the high, her legs and hips still trembling. His head lowered, and he delivered soft licks to her entrance, lapping at the essence that spilled from her spasming cunt before he pulled away. He pushed himself up until he was sitting at a tall knee between her parted thighs. His mouth and chin glistened with evidence of what they'd just done, and the look in his eye told her they were far from finished.

His hands dropped to the bottom of his shirt, and in one swift motion, the cotton tee hit the floor, falling discarded without a care. She'd seen Harry shirtless before, but every time it managed to steal her breath. His chiseled form was filled with thick ropey muscles that begged to be bitten and scratched. His chest was covered in a light smattering of black hair that she longed to run her fingers though. Before she could reach for him, he seemed to sense her need and leaned over her, pressing a demanding kiss against her lips.

She could taste herself on his tongue, sweet and heady, as he brushed it against hers. The combination of her nectar and his forbidden kiss was nearly enough to make her cry out. Her hands moved across his back, fingertips pressing into the tight muscles as she moved her hands down to his lower back and around to his waist where she began to unfasten his belt.

Her fingers made quick work of his button, easily unthreading it from his jeans, and she lowered his zip, the noise deafeningly loud to her—an almost ominous reminder that they shouldn't be doing this. Once his jeans were opened, her hand slipped under his shorts, fingers sliding across his length until she could finally grasp him around the base of his shaft.

His mouth slipped from their kiss, and he pressed his forehead against hers as she began to stroke him, applying a firm grip towards the tip of his manhood on each stroke. "Harry," Hermione whispered, her voice almost unrecognisable to her own ear. "Fuck me."

Harry pulled back to look at her, his glasses askew, cheeks flushed, black hair a mess and his lips swollen. He looked absolutely ravished, his eyes dilated wide; it was obvious his own willpower was failing as miserably as her own. It wasn't until she dragged her thumb across the head of his cock, her nail scratching slightly at the flared head that he broke their gaze as his eyes drifted closed with a shiver of approval.

"Please, Harry," Hermione whispered, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "I need you."

And just like that, he broke.

When his eyes opened, there was a wildfire burning in their emerald depths, flickering, calling her into the madness that was the desire that flowed between them. His lips crashed into hers, one of his large hands anchoring her head in place as he swept his tongue into her mouth demandingly, no longer asking for her permission.

His other hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her hand from inside his shorts, and he pinned it beside her head as he pressed his hips against hers, grinding his hard length against her cunt through the thin cotton layers that separated their bodies.

Her legs lifted off the bed, pinned to the sides of his waist as she hooked her toes into the waistband of his shorts and jeans, and she fumbled to lower them, desperate to seek the relief from the inferno that raged inside her soul, causing her pussy to throb.

His mouth left hers to press against the soft skin of her throat as he moved his hands to her waist, and he made quick work of removing her pyjama shorts and knickers, tossing them over the side of the bed before his hands moved up her thighs.

She shivered under his touch as he parted her legs, and his bare hips slide against her skin, and just when she thought she couldn't take much more of his wandering hands that played her like a harpist would strings, she felt the length of his cock rub against her slit, sliding deliciously against her clit.

"Fuck, 'Mione," Harry gasped, his hands curling into her hips painfully, pushing and pulling her with each narrow rock of his hips.

Hermione's back arched off the mattress, her body molding into his as radiating waves of pleasure pulsed through her. "Harry," she whined, unsure of how much more of this she could take. She could feel her pussy spasm, desperate for him to be inside her and relieve the pressure that had begun to build up once again.

Harry lifted his hand, yanking up her shirt until it bunched under her chin, and his fingers pulled at the flimsy sports bra she wore underneath, dragging the garment down until her breasts hung over the top band. Leaning down, his mouth latched onto her right nipple, sucking, biting, and nibbling at the peaked bud as his other hand positioned his cock at her entrance. With one rock of his hips, he was inside her.

Her mouth hung open as he filled her, her body stretching deliciously to accommodate his girth. Salazar's pants, she'd nearly forgotten how fucking amazing he felt when he was inside her. It was beyond physical satisfaction. It was as if their magic wove together; they no longer were individual people, but rather one. She could feel every wave of pleasure as it washed over him with each push and pull from her body, until the feeling pulsed into her body from where they were connected, blossoming out from her centre until she could feel it in the tips of her toes and fingers.

Her legs curled around his waist, her heels digging into his arse as she rocked into him. Her moans encouraging him to quicken his pace until suddenly they ceased, the pleasure so great it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

She felt his sweat from his brow drip onto her skin, splashing against her with each snap of his hips. Her nails dug into the ropey muscles that lined his shoulders, marking him, providing proof of their tryst.

Her body sung for him, beckoning him to continue, to bring her to the precipice once more. "Harry," she gasped his name as he switched angles, his hand on her thigh lifting her off the mattress just enough to hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.

Over and over, he drove into it, edging her closer until she wasn't sure she actually would be able to orgasm because everything was so overwhelming. His lips, his touch, his cock. She was sure she'd passed the point of being able to find relief from the fire that burned inside, and just when she'd given up hope, he adjusted their position.

Raising up on his knees, his hands encircled her waist, and he arched her off the bed until just her shoulder blades touched the mattress. In short, forceful thrusts, he drove into her, his cock hitting her in places she never realised she needed to be touched.

"Gods. Oh gods. Fuck!"

Her hands rose, fingers disappearing in her curls as she tried again to root herself to reality. The heady fog of their magic combining made it nearly impossible to focus on anything beyond the nirvana he was causing.

"Touch yourself," Harry breathed.

She could barely register his command, but her body seemed to listen as if of its own accord. Her right hand moved down to where their bodies joined, her fingers coating in their combined essence before she brought them to her clit and began to rub small circles in a intimate pattern she'd known since her lonely nights on the run.

She watched Harry's eyes glaze over as he looked down at her frame, watching as her fingers work between her folds, the rise and fall of her breasts with each gasping breath, and dropping to where his cock disappeared inside her in a rough rhythm. She felt his left leg tremble even as he knelt, and she knew he was only moments away from cumming.

"That's it," he said between thrusts, his voice gravely with need. "Cum for me."

Her body obeyed once again, tumbling over the edge into oblivion. This time, there were no blinding white lights. Instead, she felt her magic burst out from her chest. In time with her rapidly beating heart, it filled the room with its ethereal glitter. Her moans burned her throat as her body trembled under his hold, and her pussy spasmed tightly around his cock, beckoning him to follow her.

She was vaguely away of him continuing to thrust, his hips snapping violently against her inner thighs before he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She could feel his cock pulse, spilling his seed deep inside her body as he followed her to the other side.

It was almost as if she could see his magic as it melded with hers in the air. They danced like old friends before the two invisible forces became one.

Harry shuddered, his left leg still shaking as he withdrew from her body and collapsed on the bed beside her, face first into the mattress. His arm was still slung around her middle as if to make sure she wasn't going to suddenly disappear.

And as they lay on his mattress, her heart stampeding like a wild stallion beneath her chest, it was then she realized the reason she felt so fucking incredible wasn't because of just Harry's magic.

 _No_.

Someone else was in the room.

Their magic lingered, meshing with both Harry's and hers. Swirling inside her, filling the void inside her that she'd been fighting so fucking hard to fill. Completing her.

The same someone who she couldn't stop thinking about. Whose touched burned equally as hot into her soul.

Draco.

Lifting her head off the mattress, her eyes found his immediately.

He stood across the room in the doorway, his hand clenched around the brass door handle so tightly she was sure it was seconds away from being ripped from the wood.

His silver eyes smoldered, a visceral metal swirling with a combination of desire and fury that both stole her breath and made the ache between her legs return.

Neither moved or said a word, but they just stared across the room at one another in complete silence.

She should be ashamed. Her breasts were exposed, her legs still parted crudely. Even if Draco had not watched what had just occurred, he surely would have known by the dribble of cum that leaked from between her legs and onto the mattress.

Pushing up on her elbows, Hermione reached down, gently removing Harry's arm from her middle as she began to get up from the bed. Her mind still moved slowly in the post-coital delirium, but she still knew she had to say something. To try and explain. To apologize. To do _something_ to make him understand that this was okay.

Just as her painted toes hit the floor, her body rising unevenly on shaking legs, the slam of the bedroom door pulled her attention up to where Draco had just stood. Instead of a ferocious dragon, there was now merely a closed door. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Harry lurch on the bed, practically leaping into a sitting position, his wand withdrawn from where he kept it under his pillow. "What was that?!" he asked breathlessly, still trying to gather his wits.

Hermione gulped, looking over to Harry as she raised her hands to push back her riotous curls from her face, elbows pointing to either wall in his room as she sunk her fingers into her hair. Fuck. What the fuck was she going to do now? Her tongue moistened her lips before she sunk her teeth into the corner of her bottom lip, chewing on it nervously before she answered.

"Draco."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Thank you for the kudos, likes, follows, favorites and lovely reviews. I have had a crazy burst of inspiration for this fic ans it is nearly finished! I hope you'r enjoying the story so far.

Come interact with me on tumblr. I answer all asks.

Until next week! xx


	17. Giving In

Draco brushed the soot off his trousers as he stepped from the hearth into the living room. He rather hated traveling via the Floo Network for business, but with Harry living in the heart of London, it made Apparition terribly inconvenient. Besides, there always seemed to be at least one reporter lingering outside his bloody flat. It was bad enough explaining to the papers that he and Hermione were most decidedly not dating—despite the pictures they'd captured of them holding hands a few weeks ago—and he didn't want to think of the headache it would cause if they actually managed to find out that he and Hermione had both taken up residence in Grimmauld Place.

"Potter?" he called out curiously, glancing around the living room as he set his messenger bag down in a vacant armchair as he crossed the living room.

He had just come from a meeting with Aurora, one that he had not particularly been looking forward to, as it was the first of several meetings regarding Hermione and Harry coming out as a couple.

The public's opinion regarding Hermione was slowly changing. Based on the surveys he'd paid for, she was at a seventy-four percent approval rating, with only eight percent stating her potential relapse was only weeks away. While these numbers weren't fantastic, they were a far cry from the original survey he'd had taken months ago before starting her recovery.

"Granger?" he called down the hallway as he slipped a finger into the Windsor knot at his throat, loosening the tie until it hung loose around his neck.

The push to bring Harry and Hermione's relationship public was something he'd been dragging his feet on for the past two weeks now. While he knew it would help Hermione's public image, he was selfishly hesitating, for the kiss they'd shared was still burned into his memory. Unanswered questions regarding what it meant—and what it could lead to—lingered in his mind.

Which is partially why when Granger told him over dinner two days prior that she would schedule a meeting with Aurora if he did not, he felt blindsided. They had not discussed their kiss, but it was evident in her stare it had been at the forefront of her mind as much as it had been for him. It raised a question: why she was so bloody willing to pretend it never happened?

Draco took the stairs two at a time, a single hand resting on the railing as he moved to the second floor and began down the hallway towards Harry's bedroom. He was nearly halfway to it when he first felt it.

Their magic.

No, not just their magic, but a pulsing desire that was so bloody thick he could taste it. Nearly instantly, his nostrils flared, and he felt his heart rate quicken. His pace slowed to a crawl as his eyes fluttered closed, his hands curling into fists at his side as he tried to regain composure. Instinctually, his body called for him to run to them. To join in whatever it was they were doing. To sandwich himself in their forbidden dance and claim them both as his. But rationally, he knew he could _never._

He took several slow shaky breaths, willing his body to stop its involuntary response. "One… two… three…" His voice shook as he counted his breaths, trying to focus on anything other than his response to what he was sure was happening just down the hallway.

"Gods. Oh gods. Fuck!"

His eyes snapped open at the moan that sounded like a siren's song, and he moved down the corridor quickly, his loafers snapping violently against the hardwood before he ripped open Harry's bedroom door, a litany of curses already poised on the tip of his tongue, ready to fire at will. But as soon as he saw the pair on the bed, his anger vanished into the void.

Gulping down the rising lump in his throat, Draco's hand curled painfully around the brass door. The world seemed to move in slow motion. He watched the muscles in Harry's arse clench with each thrust, causing a dimple in his cheek that he so desperately wanted to taste.

"Touch yourself."

Draco leaned into the doorframe, needing the physical support as Harry's words rang in his ears. It was the same gravely tone he'd heard so many times before, except this time Potter wasn't playing the submissive one. Draco's cock grew firm in his trousers, throbbing in desire. He couldn't see exactly what she was doing, the image blocked by Harry's torso, but he could only imagine what a sight it was to behold. The thought alone was enough to knock him to his knees had be not been leaning against the wall, the doorframe supporting his weight.

Hermione's moans and the heady scent of sex mixed into a potent cocktail, fueling his most depraved thoughts.

Behind his eyes, fantasies flashed. Forbidden. Illicit. Delicious. Images of watching Potter make love to Hermione as Draco held her in his arms, whispering in both their ears actions he wished them to play out. Taking Hermione from behind while she ravished Potter with her mouth. Potter and him taking her at the same time, delivering untold pleasures to the witch sandwiched between them.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip until the copper tang of blood splashed across his tongue, pulling him from his reverie.

He shouldn't watch this. He knew it was wrong, but he simply couldn't look away. From where he stood, he could see where their bodies joined, Potter's shaft disappearing inside Hermione with each rough thrust. He couldn't help but notice the way the wizard's leg began to tremble, an indication that he was getting close—a sign that Draco knew well.

The doorknob grew uncomfortably hot under his touch, the metal turning bright red as accidental magic slipped from his body, latching onto whatever lay beneath his fingertips. Despite the heat, he simply couldn't remove his hand. He couldn't fucking breathe, let alone think long enough to register the pain shooting up his arms.

No, he couldn't think of anything as he watched Hermione come apart. Her body arched off the bed, her screams of pleasure echoing off the walls around them. She was a goddess. Nimune, Circe, and Persephone wrapped into a single package. Her hair was wild, her lips kiss-swollen and her mouth open, exposing that perfect pink tongue he was desperate to taste once more.

And Potter? He was her parishioner, worshiping her in ways Draco had only dreamt about. Merlin, what he would give to be beside them, relieving his aching cock.

He bit his tongue, preventing himself from making a single noise as he watched Potter follow her lead, his body absorbing her climax as he emptied himself deep inside her. His unruly black hair clung to his forehead, his glasses sat askew on his face, and even from Draco's vantage point, he could make out a sheen along the other wizard's stubbled chin that gave away the other acts they had participated in tonight.

As Potter collapsed on the bed beside her in the afterglow of their coupling, Draco felt his magic reach out to them. Its tendrils wound around the mass that had become each of their own respective magics. His heart hammered painfully within his chest as he felt it try to find a space in their magic, twisting and coiling as the three invisible forces became one.

The seconds felt like minutes, ticking away painfully slowly as he watched them lay panting on the mattress. A flare of jealousy reared its head inside him like an angry dragon, snapping and snarling until it consumed every ounce of rational thought that remained in his mind.

His lips pursed into a thin line, his jaw working like it held a mouthful of tacks. How _could_ they. He'd shared something with _both_ of them! This spark was not one-sided. Hell, it was very clearly three-sided, judging by the way they all seemed to interact. He should be in there with them. He should have been beside them, encouraging. Tasting. Touching. _Fucking_ both of them!

He felt her stare before he caught her eye. Her brown eyes were on him, wide like a deer in headlights. They were half lidded with residual bliss, but within them he could make out the unmistakable look of guilt. A child whose hand was in the cookie dish. And just like that, the fantasies of the three of them becoming something—anything—vanished.

Draco's hand moved to clutch the door handle once more, using it to physically ground himself so he didn't walk across the room to her. Instead, he stood frozen, his tongue pressing into the cut on his lips, letting the painful string remind him what was real.

Granger and Potter were an item. And he was never meant to be more than a temporary fixture in either of their lives. He was merely a means to make her successful again.

His hand on the door shook, a newfound rage boiling to the surface inside him, and when she began to move off the bed, Draco knew he needed to leave.

He couldn't let either of them talk to him. Not now. Not when his will was so bloody weak. Inside him, a storm raged. Jealousy. Desire. Fury. They all blended until the hurricane of emotions threatening to spill from every pore.

Turning on his heel, Draco tore his eyes from Hermione just as her feet hit the floor, and he yanked the door shut violently. He moved down the hall quickly, his hands raking through his hair, ruining the meticulous effort he'd put into his coif earlier that morning.

Pushing open his bedroom door, he hurried in and slammed it shut behind him with a wave of his hand before he withdrew his wand from his trouser pocket. Draco warded it. But it wasn't to prevent Potter or Granger from coming in. Rather, he hoped it would prevent him from running back to either of them.

* * *

The last summer storm beat violently against the single-paned windows of Grimmauld Place, providing the perfect backdrop to the war that currently waged inside.

"I'm not fucking leaving!" Hermione shouted from where she stood in entryway to her bedroom, her arms crossed over her bust and her jaw set stubbornly.

After walking in on her and Harry nearly three days ago, Draco had gone radio silent. Like someone cast a silencing spell, he didn't utter so much as a single word to them. The tension was thick, damn near visible between them as they coexisted in the house, waiting for him to blow his lid over what had happened.

Of course, his silence was worse than any fight she thought they might have.

She needed him to scream at her. Tell her she was a fuck up. Demand she apologies. Something— _anything!_ But she had been met with stony silence until two hours ago.

Harry had just left, taking a Portkey from the Ministry to France where he was attending a mandatory meeting between Minister Shacklebolt and the French Minister of Magic. Something about trade sanctions between the Dragon reserves. In all honesty, Hermione had barely listened because the only thing her mind could focus on was the fact that Harry leaving meant she would be alone with Draco.

Draco stood in the middle of her room, his wand directing clothing from the closet towards an opened bag on the foot of the bed. "You knew the risk, Granger. Don't act like this is a surprise," he said plainly, not even bothering to raise his voice; once that happened, he knew things would only escalate. "I've got rooms for us at The Leaky for the night, and I am making arrangements for a flat on the far side of Diagon Alley."

"Diagon Alley? Are you fucking kidding me?!" Hermione snapped, stamping her foot on the ground. "Draco, I am not fucking going anywhere. I don't _want_ to go. I don't _need_ to go. I'm fine. Harry's fine. I-I don't even want a bloody drink anymore!"

With a quick flourish, the spell continued without his direction, allowing him to turn his efforts on manually emptying her small dresser. "How wonderful, but that doesn't change the fact you broke my rules, Granger." Yanking open her top drawer, his hands dove into her socks, gathering them up in a large handful, and he moved to her bed where he began to fill a second empty bag that sat beside the one that was in the process of self-zipping.

"Stop it!" Hermione snapped as she moved towards him, physically shoving his hands so the pile of socks toppled onto her bedding. "Just bloody stop it!"

Draco looked up, giving her a sharp stare as he pulled his hands back from her touch. "No, you bloody stop it!" His voice was low and dangerous, a tone she had most certainly heard before from him. "This isn't a fucking game, Granger. You messed up. Twice now. _Twice_ you've disregarded the rules that we all agreed to. _Twice_ you thought with your fucking libido and not that brilliant little mind they claim you possess. So no, you stop acting like a fucking child and realise that there are consequences for your actions."

"The rules?" Hermione laughed in disbelief, her hand going up to rest on the top of her head. "Draco, do you think I don't fucking know?" she questioned, refusing to back down. She'd be damned if she let him win this.

"Know what?" he returned, the fire still licking behind his eyes.

"About you and Harry… on the porch."

The conversation had come up weeks ago, shortly after she and Harry had decided to give whatever it was between them a shot. It had been late at night, and Harry was struggling to clear his conscience. While at first she was shocked, to say the least, she didn't judge. How could she? After all, Harry was willing to love her despite all of her flaws. And while having a romantic interest in wizards was far from a flaw, the fact that he'd gotten off on the porch while she detoxed inside did not exactly make him innocent either.

Besides, she was technically still battling her own feelings for the blond wizard. It was almost comforting to hear Harry felt an attraction to him. Like maybe she wasn't broken and there was some weird appeal the Malfoy family inspired in everyone. Which would obviously explain the secret tryst Harry then later confessed to.

"What?" Draco didn't hesitate, his hackles raising immediately.

"You heard me! I know about what you did with him. Your being—"

"What I did with him has no bearing on your fucking health, Hermione!" Draco snapped, his eyes widening. "What… what I did with Harry is none of your business regardless."

"None of my business? He is my boyfriend!" Hermione returned, her frown deepening. "And it's Hermione now, is it? Make up your damn mind on what you want to call me. Because when you're not snogging me in the bloody loo or touching my boyfriend's cock, it's Granger, but when you want something, it's suddenly Hermione. I'm sick of playing these fucking—these fucking _games_ with you!"

A growl slipped from his throat, and he took a step towards her, his chest puffing in anger as he stood toe to toe with the witch. "As am I with you! I am not the one in treatment. I can… I can do whatever I want with _whomever_ I want at _any bloody time_ ," Draco pointed out, the fingers of his free hand flexing at his side as he felt magic spark at his fingertips. " _And_ I will call you whatever the bloody hell I feel like, which now is an insolent, spoilt brat."

"Fuck you!" Hermione reached out, her hands connecting with his chest, and she quickly shoved him, obviously catching him by surprise because he stumbled back a few steps. Using the momentum to her advantage, she followed him, reaching to push him once more. "I am not leaving!"

Draco's hands moved quickly, grabbing both of her wrists when her palms were only seconds away from connecting with his chest, and he quickly twisted them behind her body, crushing her frame against his so her breasts were flattened against his chest, her hips aligning with his in a cruel twist of fate.

His nostrils flared as he bore down into her eyes, noting the fire that flickered wildly inside her irises like flecks of gold. He could feel each deep breath she took, causing her breasts to rub against his chest, and when he felt her nipples harden from the slight friction, his pulse began to quicken for an entirely different reason.

Their magic fought each other just as much as their verbal spar. Instead of the fluid combination that Hermione felt with Harry days prior, it was almost as if their souls were waging war. Battling for dominance over each other.

Before she could process what was happening, Draco's mouth was on hers. His tongue slid into her parted lips, demanding entrance into her mouth and taking whatever he wanted, including her breath. And while she knew it was wrong—she was with Harry, for Merlin's' sake—she couldn't deny how fucking right it felt.

His hands tightened on her wrists, pulling them painfully tight across her back until she cried out into his kiss. Her teeth nipped at his tongue and lips, biting until she felt the tangy splash of blood.

She wiggled her right hand free from his death like grip and grabbed the front of his jumper, fingers curling into the soft fabric. Hermione pulled him impossibly close, until their bodies melded into one another, before releasing his jumper to slide up the length of his neck and curled her fingers into his hair. She had long fantasized about sliding her fingers through his flaxen locks, dreamt of how soft it would feel beneath her fingertips. And now, she realized how utterly foolish she had been, for her fantasies paled in comparison to the reality of the way this felt.

Her body followed his lead, backing up until her knees buckled when she hit the side of her bed. His mouth left her lips just as roughly. His teeth pulled on her bottom lip, slipping open a tiny cut in the very center, causing blood to spill back into her mouth and across his lips.

With a rough shove, she fell back onto the mattress, her elbows sinking into the pillow top, holding her torso up as she looked up to Draco with wide eyes. Her tongue ran across her bottom lip, collecting the mixture of their blood from her lips. She watched him stand between her parted knees, one of his hands clutching his wand tightly, the other curled into a fist as he took deep breaths, grey eyes already liquid silver.

Reaching out, her hand curled around the front of his oxford, and she pulled him down to her, the sound of his seams popping filling the room as she pulled his lips to hers once more. Releasing his shirt as their kiss resumed, his body poised over hers, she grabbed either side of his oxford and pulled as hard as she could, sending the first five buttons ricocheting off her body and onto the mattress.

Her hands dove into his shirt, pressing against his ruined alabaster skin. She could feel his scars, the very ones Harry had given him during their sixth year. They bisected his body, forever marking him. Her fingers ran the length of the broadest scar, moving from the base of his throat and down across his pectoral and over his nipple. Upon reaching the hardened bud, her fingers pinched roughly at it, earning a growl in what she could only interpret as approval.

Draco's hand moved from the bed, where it had been propping him up over her, and he curled it around her throat. His thumb pressed into the centre as his fingers anchored onto her spine at the back of her neck, and he applied a light pressure. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel her world go fuzzy, everything numbing just enough to amplify the jolt of pleasure that rushed through her body when she felt him rub his cock against her core.

Her head tipped back from their kiss, her breath pausing as he squeezed just a little harder than before. "Is this what you wanted?" Draco growled in her ear, his tongue running along the shell before he relaxed his hold, allowing her to take deep gasping breaths. "Is this what you need?"

"Y-yes," Hermione nodded, her fingers dropping to fumble with the rest of the buttons on his oxford, her hands already trembling.

"I've wanted you—" Draco practically purred as he dragged his hand down her throat, over her shirt, his fingers groping her breast briefly before continuing down her frame. "—for weeks." He confessed as he rocked into her, pressing his cock against her core, dragging himself along her slit through her joggers.

"Oh gods." Hermione moaned, her eyes fluttering closed. Merlin, this should stop. She shouldn't want this. They shouldn't be bloody doing this, but when his hand slipped beneath her top and he pulled down the cups of her bra and dragged his fingertips across her already hardened nipples, she couldn't find a single reason that this shouldn't be happening.

His mouth dropped down her throat, biting and licking his way to her exposed breasts. He greedily took one nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling and flicking at the hardened peak before biting as it as he palmed her other breast roughly. "Does your… cunt taste… as good as… your breasts?" Draco growled between bites and then switched his attention to her other breast, delivering the same treatment.

Her mind spun under his touch, only able to formulate an answer in the form of a moan as her back arched off the bed, her curls forming a crown around her head. "Draco," she whined when he broke the suction on her nipple with an audible _pop_.

A low laugh grumbled from his chest, and he ran his tongue along the underside of her breast, his nose nudging her skin softly before he rose up on his knee on the edge of the bed, still poised between her knees. He quickly undid his cufflinks, letting the jewelry fall to the bed before he pulled his shirt over his head, and he tossed the garment to the floor without a care. His eyes never left her. Primal. Hungry. They roved over her figure as she lay panting, waiting for him to say or do anything.

"On your hands and knees, Granger," he commanded, his hands dropping to his trousers, where they made quick work of his belt.

Hermione gulped, her pussy pulsing with desire at his command. She pulled her legs up the bed, careful to avoid hitting him as she rolled onto her belly, Just when she pressed her palm into the mattress to push herself up, she felt his hand curl into her joggers just above her arse, and he yanked her forcefully back across the bed towards him, forcing her bum in the air.

Her body trembled as she felt him pull her pants and knickers to her knees. She felt the bed lift, and she heard the sound of his loafers hitting the floor, indicating he had stepped off the bed, and his hands shimmied her joggers down until they slipped from her legs.

"My, my." Draco's voice was low and rough with desire. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know where he was looking; she could feel his stare burning into her skin, embarrassing and exciting her. "Is every part of you beautiful?"

She felt his hands on her thighs, sliding up her legs until his fingers rested over the swell of her arse, and he used his thumbs to part her labia, exposing her pussy to the cold winter air that filled her bedroom. "D-Draco," she whimpered, her face burying into the mattress as her hands curled against the comforter.

She heard him laugh again, the puffs of hot air washing over her pussy, causing it to spasm. "You never answered, Granger. Is your cunt as divine as your breasts?" he questioned, blowing softly on her exposed pussy once more.

Hermione shook her head, her hands flexing into the comforter. Though she was physically unable to make any sort of verbal respond, her body hummed in anticipation.

"I'm waiting…."

"I don't know!" She rushed to answer, blushing three shades of crimson.

"Hmm… has no wizard ever shared with you?" he questioned, not bothering to wait for her answer before he continued. "What a shame. I will have to fix that problem."

Her eyes slammed closed upon the first sweep of his tongue through her folds, running from her clit all the way back to her entrance. "Oh fuck!"

His fingers pressed into her skin, holding her spread open wide as he practically feasted on her. The sound of his tongue lapping against her wet pussy could barely be heard over the litany of moans that spilled from her lips.

His nose nudged her entrance, teasing her as his tongue danced around and on her clit, driving her to the brink of orgasm in what felt like record time. She could feel her hips shake, her legs trembling as the fire low in her belly licked at her soul. Her magic no longer battled his. She was compliant, willing to bend to his every bloody whim, practically a puddle beneath his lips.

"Don't stop," she moaned, her mind already beginning to fog. "Oh Merlin, don't stop!"

Yet, despite her pleas, she felt his lips leave her cunt, and he delivered one hard slap to her arse. "Don't you dare cum, Granger," he growled over the sound of rustling fabric. "You're not allowed to cum unless it's on my cock."

Oh, sweet Merlin. She was going to fucking explode if he didn't hurry up.

Pushing herself up on her palms, Hermione looked over her shoulder. She couldn't quite see his cock that he was fisting as he positioned himself behind her, but when he swept it through her pussy, coating the head of his manhood in her juices, she knew she was only seconds away from getting precisely what she needed.

Him.

He took his time, coating himself in her before he paused at her entrance, poised to take her. His hands smoothed over the skin of her arse and lower back, pressing her hips lower until he had her exactly where he wanted her.

"Draco," she whined when he didn't move.

His low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine, and he moved in just a centimetre before pulling out. "You want my cock, Granger?"

"Yes," she breathed, chewing her bottom lip raw as she tried to lean back and push him inside her.

"Beg me," he purred, sliding a hand up her spine slowly. "Let me hear how much you want it."

She felt his fingers wind into her curls before he yanked her head back roughly, twisting her neck until she looked at him. Her eyes glittered with unspilled tears from the sharp pain. "Please, Draco."

"You can do better than that," he instructed, twisting her hair around his hand just a bit more in warning. "Beg. Me"

"Please Draco! Please, I need your cock… I need you to fuck me," Hermione said quickly, practically sobbing her plea, and just when she thought it might not be good enough, he slammed inside her, filling her completely with one deep thrust.

"Good girl."

His praise would have been enough to send her over the edge, but coupled with the rough, frantic pace he set, she found herself clinging to the comforter as she rode the waves of her orgasm nearly immediately as he began to fuck her.

Her head stayed twisted against her back, as he held her hair, his other hand curling painfully into her side as he snapped his hips against her, stinging the skin of her arse in his brutal pace.

She could feel her pussy spasm around him as the waves of orgasm took hold. Her moans turned to screams of ecstasy, and she couldn't make out the filthy words he spoke over her own cries. She had never felt an orgasm so intense before in her life. It was like he ripped it from her body, demanding she give into the pleasure instead of the gentle build up she normally felt. Like being dunked in ice cold water on a hot summer day; even as she trembled from the consuming feeling, she was practically begging for more.

He pulled her up by her hair, his hand sliding up her side and guiding her to her knees with his cock still deep inside her as he fucked her with shallow thrusts. "You're cunt feels so fucking good," he growled into her ear as he released his hold on her hair to touch her breasts, alternating between pinching her nipples and squeezing her breasts. "So fucking tight."

Hermione lifted her arms, wrapping them loosely around his neck as she leaned back into him, her body absorbing his brutal touch. A glutton for punishment, she craved more—no, she _needed_ it.

He kept her like this, stretched out against him like a harp, her body a mass of string he plucked and carressed until she felt herself once more on the edge of orgasm, this time ready and willing to fling herself over the edge.

Draco's right hand rested over her stomach, anchoring her in place while his left dropped to touch her pussy, his index fingers circling around her clit as he fucked her. "Don't cum, Granger," he instructed, his voice breathy and light with his own release only moments away. "Not without me."

Hermione nodded, his name the only praise she could utter as she fought off her rising need to climax. Her hips quivered, and she felt her pussy flutter around his cock as she bit her bottom lip, trying to hold off as best she could.

"That's it… be my good girl," he purred into her ear. "Wait for me; cum with me." He hummed, his nose nudging the sweat from her temple as he increased his pace, pulling his hips back just a bit further than before.

Hermione nodded, sobbing through her moans as she fought the urge. "Y-Yes… I'll be… I'll be—"

"My good girl," he supplied for her, his hand on her stomach moving to curl around her hip and hold her steady as he pounded into her. His teeth raked across her throat, leaving a trail on her skin until he latched onto the ball of her of her shoulder, and she cried out from the painful pleasure that coursed through her body, causing her pussy to spasm around his cock.

"Cum for me, with me," he finally gasped after what felt like an eternity, and Hermione relaxed into his hold, allowing herself to give into the bliss she had been fighting.

She could feel her magic burst from her body as she cried out, her fingers curling into his skin, breaking through the first layer until small pools of blood formed under her fingernails. Her body shook, consumed by the tsunami that was her orgasm, numbing and blurring the world around her as she collapsed on the bed.

She felt him fall next to her, the sound of his breath echoing in her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes as she relaxed under the dopamine's effects fr0k what they had just done. What had just happened with Draco was explosive. It was raw. Consuming. Completely and utterly fucking overwhelming. Unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

Unable to prevent herself, she couldn't help but compare what had just happened to what she and Harry had shared only days prior. They were so vastly different, but both filled a void within her soul. Neither was better than the other. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was almost as if they filled two sides of her soul. She wasn't full, but if she could have both at the same time… Merlin, she just might die from the feeling.

"Fuck!"

Hermione lifted her head off the mattress, half-lidded eyes opening to watch Draco dart off the bed, his hands scrambling to yank up his pants as he moved across the room. "D-Draco?" she called out, her voice thick with sleep and raw from her cries.

Draco looked over to her. Instead of the pools of silver she had seen seconds ago, she saw something in his eyes she had not seen since sixth year: fear.

He didn't say a single word. Instead, he used a non verbal spell to summon his wand from beside her on the bed and left her room, only flashing a hint of sympathy her way in his escape.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

You all get the update early because I am going to be swamped this weekend (my son is turning six!). I am literally dying to read your reactions to this long awaited chapter. thank you for all the kudos, likes, reviews, follows and words of encouragement.

Come follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack! I answer all asks, post pictures, random gifs and the occasional picture of myself. eek.


	18. Mistakes

France.

Merlin, Harry hated France.

It wasn't that the county wasn't beautiful. Nor was it that the language wasn't at least pleasing to listen to—even though he understood absolutely nothing that the French Minister said.

It was that France wasn't home.

He had never really minded traveling before. Not when he had nothing at home for him but an empty bed. But now with Hermione there waiting for him to return, he hated being away for too long.

He would be remiss if he didn't admit, at least to himself, that a small part of him also longed to be around Draco, although he tried his best to ignore the fire that sparked low in his belly each time he caught a glimpse of those grey eyes.

The meeting had gone well. At least, that's what he assumed when the meeting ended with a champagne toast. Harry sipped on the bubbly liquid for what he hoped was an adequate amount of time before pulling Minister Shacklebolt aside and asking if he could take the Portkey back a day earlier than intended.

Kingsley, clearly enjoying himself, did not even bother asking Harry why when he agreed, something Harry was more than thankful for, as it would have been rather difficult to explain why he was so eager to go home when his relationship with Hermione had yet to be announced.

Harry thanked the French Minister, gave her a gracious smile, and shook her hand before he left the conference room. His mind was stuck on a single thought: home.

By the time he made it back to England, it was nearly nine in the evening. It was far from late, but international travel was never easy. Even with magic.

Harry used the Floo in Kingsley's office, his heart already beating an uneven rhythm in anticipation as he stepped through the green fire and into his home.

His eyes were still blurry when he stepped out of his hearth, his head spinning, but what he heard was enough to ground him immediately.

Crying.

No, not just crying. Hermione was sobbing.

His heart lurched, his magic reaching for her, seeking her out as he looked around the room frantically. "Hermione?" he called out, dropping his overnight bag at his feet before he crossed the sitting room.

" _Lumos!_ " With his wand held aloft in front of him, he moved quickly down the hallway, poking his head into each room as he made his way through his house. "Hermione? Where are you?!"

"H-Harry?" Her voice drifted down to him from the second floor, thick with tears.

Harry ran to the stairwell, tipping his head back as he lifted his wand to peer at the railing. Hermione was looking over the side, her face blotchy and red as tears fell unbidden down her cheeks. The moment their eyes connected, he watched her crumble. Her eyes shut tightly as she took quick, ragged breaths, and her hands rose to cover her face.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't face him. What the fuck had she done?!

She could make out the sound of Harry's footsteps as he climbed the stairs. They sounded similar to the explosions she'd heard during the Battle of Hogwarts. Loud. Deafening. Shaking her to the core as he drew near. She turned around, pressing her back into the railing before sliding down into a heap on the floor, her arms wrapping around her legs as she buried her face in her knees.

"Hermione, are you... what— what happened?" Harry knelt beside her, his wand clattering against the wooden floor as he reached for her.

"Don't!" Hermione shouted, jumping as soon as his fingertips touched her arms. "D-don't!" Lifting her head, Hermione pulled her legs tighter against her torso with one arm as she used the sleeve of her jumper to catch her falling tears.

"Okay, okay!" Harry said as he lifted his hands, scooting back just an inch like one would from a wounded animal. His eyes went wide with concern, swirling with fear as he took in her appearance. Her hair was wet, the curls clinging to her forehead and cheeks. She smelled vaguely of the lavender soap from the bathroom, a hint of it there just beneath the strong disinfectant odor he knew _Scourgify_ left when used on a person. "Just… just tell me if you're okay."

Hermione's bottom lip quivered, her tears still cascading down her cheeks as she shook her head no. _Okay_? How could she be fucking okay? She'd just slept with Draco. She'd fucked up. Again. No, She'd royally fucked up. She'd dove head first into irreversibility without any bloody thought as to the fallout her actions would leave. She literally ruined everything by giving into something she wasn't entirely sure was real. Did that pull she felt toward the he blond wizard truly exist, or was it some fucked up fabrication? But the worst thing, worse even than the realisation that she had _cheated_ on sweet, loving, kind Harry—Harry, who had looked past all her faults, Harry who was willing to risk everything just to fucking pull her back from the brink of her self destruction—was the fact that she would do it again. If given that chance to be with Draco, she would take it. Merlin help her, she would take it.

These feelings she felt for Harry, the way her heart called to him, the way his magic mixed with hers so fluidly, filling her until the void inside her disappeared, the way her body sung under his touch... it wasn't just with him. It was with Draco, too!

Harry nodded in response to her silent reply, his lips pressing together in thought. She watched as the gears inside his mind spun, trying to figure out what the bloody hell was going on. Merlin, what she wouldn't give to know the answer to that very same question. "Draco…" he breathed, his hand carding through his untidy hair. "Where's Draco?"

Hermione watched as he stood from the floor, looking up and down the hall as he called out for the wizard in question.

"H-He's… he's gone." Hermione managed, taking slow, deep breaths to try and calm her run away emotions. "He left."

"Left?" Harry frowned, looking down at Hermione curiously. "Where did he go?"

She could only shrug her shoulders, her fingers curling into her pyjama bottoms on her legs, pulling the fabric tight across her shins. "Harry… Draco and I…" Her voice died, the words lost on her tongue. How was she supposed to tell him? How would he ever forgive her? She'd ruined everything. She was worthless. He'd leave too. Harry would see her for what she really was. Ruined. Unlovable. Scum.

Harry's brow knit, absolutely hanging on her every word, attempting to decipher what she was trying to tell him, as he sunk down to squat in front of her. He still kept the distance she'd requested, but she watched his hands twitch, desperate to reach for her. "Hermione, what happened?"

"I made a mistake," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid saying it any louder might make the impact worse. Hermione reached up, dragging her sleeve across her eyes to catch her tears before she looked down in her lap, shaking her head.

"W-what do you mean?" There was a change in his intonation that make her heart crack, only seconds away from shattering. The concern was there, but it was guarded with a heavy layer of hesitation.

"I…I…" Her tongue felt heavy, as if physically unable to say the words she needed. Closing her eyes tight, she felt a renewed swell of emotions burst open inside her. This was it. This was the moment everything ended. She had thought she'd lost Harry before, but now? Now he was surely going to disappear from her life forever. "Harry… Draco and I…. I didn't mean to. I don't even know how it happened."

"Hermione… Hermione!" Disregarding her request for space, his hands curled around her arms, giving her a light shake until she lifted her head to look at him. "What do you mean?" The fear was there, marring the beautiful jewel tone of his eyes. Merlin, what had she done?

"We… we had sex. But Harry it wasn't… I didn't mean for it to happen!" she blurted out, her heart racing within her chest at her confession. She watched his horror as he recoiled from touching her, acting as if his hands were burned by her skin. Involuntarily she reached for him, her rationale getting lost as the war of hearts raged inside her. "Harry… I'm so sorry."

Harry shook his head, scooting back from her reach until he sat pressed against the opposite wall from her. His hands raked through hair hair, and even from her vantage point, she could make out a distinct tremble to them that told her what was to come was going to be just as bad as she'd feared.

She waited.

She silently prayed for him to do something. Say something. But instead, he sat silently, tugging at his hair, his eyes glazed over in thought until she finally had enough of the deafening silence that hung between them. "S-say something."

Harry looked up at her, his brow knit, his lips thinning in thought as he assessed her. "Are you— have you been drinking?"

The question was a blow to her already wounded heart. The crack that had formed forged deeper until she felt it burst into a million tiny pieces. After all her progress, all her promises to him, and their future plans whispered into the darkness at the end of a long day, how could he assume that? "No. Harry, I would _never._ "

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

Hermione winced, her hand moving to her hairline, and she pushed her wet curls back on her head as she shook her head no. "I haven't drank…"

"Did Charlie or one of those… those goons of his bring you Dragon's Breath?" Harry pressed, a new anger clouding his words.

"No." She whispered her reply, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tried to will the welling tears in her eyes from falling.

"So then what?" Harry snapped. "What in the bloody fuck made you shag _Malfoy?_ "

Hermione shook her head before offering a silent shrug. She had no logical answer that would explain away her actions. It wasn't planned! It was almost as if there were forces outside her control pushing her towards him, starting weeks prior when they still took residence at the cottage.

"I don't bloody understand, Hermione. Were you getting even because I told you about our past?"

"N-no."

"You just felt like shagging him?"

"No. Of course not."

"So then explain to me why it fucking happened!" Harry snapped, his eyes flickering with flames of anger from across the narrow hallway.

"I don't know…" It was all she could respond with, her bottom lip quivering.

"Do you fancy him?" Harry demanded, and when she gave no answer, he slammed his fist against the wall roughly. "Answer the bloody question, Hermione!"

"I don't know!" she responded through the tears that leaked down her cheeks, her body on edge. "I don't know what I feel about him-for him. I… I love you. I _do_ , Harry. I love you so much."

"But not enough to not shag Malfoy, clearly," he quipped, pushing up off the floor and beginning to pace in front of her as he yanked his tie from his oxford before throwing it on the ground with a small snarl of frustration.

"Were you trying to hurt me? Was that what you wanted? Because if so, mission accomplished!" Harry was grasping at straws, but she could sense his desperation. He wanted—no, _needed_ —to understand what on Earth had happened. Better yet, he needed to understand why the anger he felt brewing inside his soul wasn't because she'd been with someone else, but rather that she'd been with Draco _without_ him.

"Harry, no!" she said quickly, unfolding herself from the ball she'd curled up into on the floor, and she stood, reaching for him as she took a hesitant step toward him. "I love you. I never meant for—"

"Stop! Just stop," Harry interrupted, his hands lifting as he took a step back from her. "Hermione, I… I need time. I need to think about this. I need to go," he said as he began back down the hallway. He knew her fears and knew that leaving wasn't what would help her, but he needed to help himself. He needed to figure out what this meant for their future, but, more importantly, he needed to discover what this meant for their future with Draco. This forbidden tryst that they had shared brought up far more than feelings of betrayal. It made him bloody question everything about the dynamic of his relationship with Hermione.

He loved her. He knew, without a doubt in his mind, that the feelings he shared with her could only be described as such, and if that was the case, why did he feel so strongly for Malfoy? Better yet, why was he jealous of their time together instead of pissed that the transgression happened?

Hermione froze, her hand still outstretched for him as silent tears slipped down her cheeks. He watched it happen. The consuming darkness that they were so desperately trying to save her from suddenly overwhelmed her. Her eyes darkened, her shoulders sagged, and her hand dropped to her side. He could nearly see the words float within her mind.

"I'm coming back," he said quickly, because despite the pain he felt, he needed to reassure her that he wasn't going to abandon her. "I just need to think."

Hermione nodded, her lips pressing together into a thin line as she tried to stop the anxiety that was building up inside her. She was worthless. He'd never come back. He was lying. No one loved her. No one cared. She was going to be alone. The mantra played inside her head like a skipping record, endlessly repeating its deafening chorus.

She felt helpless, too, as she watched Harry walk away from her, the sound of his loafers snapping against the wood like the ticking of a clock, signaling the end of her short lived happiness. She could distantly hear the sound of the Floo activating from the first story, and when the noise like a rushing wind disappeared, she sunk down onto the floor in the hallway once more, her hands moving to cup over her ears as she squeezed her eyes shut, silently begging for relief from the demons that had come out to play.

* * *

The Hog's Head Inn was a far cry from where he'd thought he would end up, but tonight it was his haven.

Draco didn't quite understand why Aberforth decided to take pity on him that evening, as normally the last remaining Dumbledore wouldn't so much as let him set foot inside the dodgy pub. Perhaps he sensed Draco needed a place to hide. Or maybe he was just desperate for his Galleons.

Either way, Draco didn't mind.

He sat at the far end of the bar, his hands wrapped around the cold glass of a dingy tumbler. His fingertips pressed into the cuts that embellished the side of the glass as he stared into the amber liquid inside.

He could smell the cinnamon waft up to him, beckoning him to bring the glass to his lips, begging him to give in and just have a small sip. It had been nearly eight years since he'd had even a drop of alcohol. Sure, he'd felt the urge, but never had he been so close to giving in before. Which is why when Aberforth asked him what he'd be having as he sidled up to the bar hours earlier, he didn't even so much as flinched when he gave his reply.

Fire whiskey.

His drink of choice. The poison that he'd used to self-medicate since he was sixteen. The Malfoy men's nectar of the gods. He'd developed a taste for it early on, wanting to make his father proud. But now as he stared at the liquor, he couldn't help but wonder what Lucius would think if he saw him now.

Fucked up. Lusting after not only a Muggle-born witch, but a man as well. Desiring, wanting, _needing_ The Boy Who Lived and Gryffindor's Fallen Princess.

Despite years of therapy and his insistence that he no longer cared what anyone thought, a part of him would always long to make his parents proud. And that was the part of himself he would never be able to reconcile with.

"Malfoy!"

Draco lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to the doorway in which Potter stood, his shoulders tense, his eyes aflame. If Draco didn't know exactly what was about to happen, he would find the near animalistic way Potter was holding himself arousing.

Snuffing out the cigarette he was nearly finished with, Draco slid the still-full glass back across the bar next to the neat stack of coins he'd set down earlier in the evening. Turning on the barstool, he leaned back, letting his elbows sink on the sticky counter top. "Potter."

Harry crossed the room, the heavy wooden door closing behind him in a resounding _thunk_. "What the _fuck?_ " he snapped as he drew closer, not lowering his tone, drawing the gaze of the patrons scattered around the pub in the shadows. "What is wrong with you?!"

Draco couldn't help but notice he didn't hold his wand but instead had balled fists at his side. Morbidly, he couldn't help but be grateful for that small fact. At least he would only have to deal with a bloodied nose or a split lip. A small sacrifice he was willing to pay for the monumental mistake he'd made. "Well, honestly? A lot."

He waited, relaxing his body to absorb any fist thrown his way, mentally preparing himself for pain. Potter closed the distance between them, his hand grabbing the front of his oxford, straining the buttons he'd magically repaired before he left Grimmauld Place. His spine cried out as the bar top bit against his back, arching under the pressure. "Why?"

Draco looked down at Harry's hands on his shirt, watching his knuckles blossom white, paling the beautiful, bronze skin. Salazar's sack, what the fuck _was_ his problem? Even now, moments away from what he was sure to be an intimate introduction of Harry's fist to his jaw, he was practically humming with need for the black haired man. Dragging his eyes back up to lock on Harry's, he ran his tongue across his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the corner. "Because I wanted her."

He watched as the earworm worked its way into Harry's mind, the wizard's eyes flashing with what he could only assume was rage. And with a rough slam, Harry shoved Draco back further into the bar, damn near pinning him to its surface. "No, you fucking idiot! Why did you _leave_ her?!"

Draco's breath stole from his lungs, his brows knit in confusion as he looked up at Harry. Had he—? No, surely he'd misheard him. "What?"

"You left her," Harry said through gritted teeth, his hands curling into the oxford until Draco could hear the seams begin to pop in protest. "Why did you leave?"

The question felt like a he'd just taken a bludger to the chest, leaving his mind reeling as he tried to remember how to just fucking breathe again. "You're… You're not mad?"

Harry released him with a shove, nearly causing Draco to knock over the tumbler that sat next to his shoulder. "What part of me doesn't look right furious?" Harry questioned as he took two steps away from Draco, his hands moving to slide through his hair.

Draco winced as he dislodged his spine from the bar, righting himself with a brush of his hands across his shirt. "Are you fucking daft, Potter? I just shagged your girlfriend, and you want to know _why I fucking left?"_ Draco reached up, brushing his fringe back from where it'd fallen across his forehead. "I think the answer for my departure is fairly bloody obvious. Are you not upset?"

Harry dropped a hand to smother across his face, slipping his fingers beneath his glasses so he could press them into his eyes. "No… yes," he contradicted himself, his voice cracking with confusion. "Godric! _I don't fucking know!_ "

"Is there a problem over here?"

Aberforth's rumbling voice pulled Draco's attention away from Potter, and he gave the wizard a quick shake of his head. "No. We were just leaving."

"You didn't finish your drink." Aberforth gestured to the tumbler that teetered on the edge of the bar, the amber liquor still taunting him even from more than an arms distance away.

"Drink?" Harry's voice was low and dangerous. Draco could feel Harry's magic push against him, threatening to pull him under. "You bought _a fucking drink?"_

"Wasn't thirsty." Liar.

Draco turned on his heel, his hand curling around Harry's arm, and he dragged him out of the pub. They passed the nosey patrons who craned their necks to catch a glimpse of The Boy Wonder and the ones who preferred to watch from the shadows.

The cold autumn air bit at his cheeks the moment they stepped outside. The air smelt clean and frosty. Snow was on the horizon, threatening to cover the small village in a blanket of white weeks earlier than normal.

Just as Draco reached the edge of the building, preparing to walk them to the Apparition point, he felt a hand curl around his shoulder, and Harry yanked him back, slamming him into the side of The Hog's Head in the tiny alley that ran between it and Dervish and Banges. His breath left his body in a sudden rush, his ears ringing, and his eyes blurred temporarily. "Fuck!"

Harry pressed into him, until Draco could feel the other man's heartbeat against his chest. Harry's hands moved to either side of his head, effectively trapping him. "A fucking drink?" he snarled. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Draco's pulse quickened. His magic called for Harry, seeping out of him and into the wizard where their bodies connected. "You don't care that I've shagged your girlfriend," Draco retorted, his nostrils flaring. "What the bloody hell is wrong with _you_?"

He felt Harry's breath wash over his face, prickling the stubble that had begun to appear. Harry stayed silent, emerald eyes swirling with conflicting emotions, silencing all the questions that Draco held on the tip of his tongue.

"Honestly? A lot." The irony of Harry using his own words on him was not lost on Draco, but before he could muster a response, Harry lowered his mouth to Draco's in a searing kiss.

Draco caved, giving into the magic that flowed between them and succumbing to his need for Harry. His hands immediately found Harry's waist, and he pulled the wizard closer by the belt loops of his trousers until their hips aligned.

Reaching up, Draco slipped his fingers through the side of Harry's hair, angling the wizard's head as his tongue swept into his mouth. He'd dreamt of this kiss since he'd watched Harry fuck Hermione three days prior, wishing, hoping, and praying he'd get to taste him once again.

When Harry pulled away from the kiss, his teeth nipping at his already swollen bottom lip, Draco let loose a low growl. His hand in Harry's hair tightened, pulling lightly from the root as his hand on the wizard's hip slid around to his lower back. In one swift motion, Draco changed positions, pushing Harry up against the wall.

With a rough yank of his hair, Draco angled Harry's head back, exposing the long lines of his neck. Leaning in, Draco wasted no time licking and sampling his skin. He nibbled on his Adam's apple, his nose brushing Harry's pulse point as he worked his way up to his ear.

"I could take you right here," Draco growled into Harry's ear as he pressed his hips against Harry's in a slow grind, feeling the undeniable evidence of Harry's desire for him through his trousers. "I could fuck you until you screamed."

He could feel Harry shiver, practically putty in his hands already. He'd taken Hermione only hours earlier, but the temptation of having them both in one night proved to be more powerful than reason.

Harry whimpered, his hands curling into Draco's shirt as he rutted against him like some fourth year in the third-floor alcoves. It wasn't until he felt Draco's hand at his belt, beginning to work it open did he remember the reason he was here.

Hermione.

This wasn't about him or his needs. He was here because of her. Because of what she and Draco had done.

"No," Harry said quickly, pushing on Draco's chest with increasing intensity until the wizard stepped back from him. Harry sagged against the wall, his hands rubbing his face as he took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart before he finally looked up to Draco. "We can't keep doing this."

"And what e _xactly_ are we doing?" Draco questioned, cocking an eyebrow at him in an attempt to appear casually indifferent, but the kiss swollen lips and his untidy hair gave away his secret. Draco was just as confused as both Hermione and Harry were.

Harry took a moment, his tongue moistening his lips before he gave a low sigh. "Hurting her." Harry pushed off the wall, his hands smoothing out the wrinkles in his oxford before he withdrew his wand from his pocket. "You left her. You promised you wouldn't again, but you did."

"It's more complicated than that, Potter, and you know it," Draco defended, his brow furrowing.

"It's really not. You made a promise, and you broke it," Harry reminded him, taking a moment to clear his throat as he gathered his thoughts. "You have to make this right, Draco."

"I fucked her, Harry. I overstepped my boundaries and broke my own bloody rules. There is no making this right," Draco said, moving backwards until he could lean back against the wall opposite of Harry.

"Hermione's a grown woman. If she… if she made the choice to be with you, then so be it. But the mistake made tonight wasn't what you did with her. It was what you did after." Harry shook his head, his eyes falling away from the wizard as he ruffled his hair, his fingers twisting through the strands on the crown of his head. "I'm going home; I promised her I would come back. I just needed time to think, and I don't intend on hurting her any more than she already is."

Harry cast a low _Lumos_ , keeping the wand pointed at his feet as he began down the alleyway towards the road. He only stopped at the end to look over his shoulder once more at Draco, who had remained unmoved from the spot Harry had left him in. "Come home, Draco. She'll forgive you. All you have to do is ask."

* * *

Harry Apparated outside Grimmauld Place from the edge of Hogsmeade. While under normal circumstances he wouldn't try something as risky as Apparating into a busy London neighborhood, he figured the late-night hour would play to his advantage.

Draco hadn't followed, and in all honesty, Harry didn't expect him to. Not yet, at least.

He knew he should be pissed about what had happened. He knew he should have wanted to rip Draco limb from limb, but there was something there—between the three of them—that Harry didn't quite understand.

He was jealous. Not of either one in particular, but rather that they had shagged without him. And as confusing as having feelings for both his best friend and sworn enemy was, adding jealousy into the mix made his head ache.

As Harry walked into his flat, he found the house dark, save for a single light coming from his sitting room. Physically locking and then warding the door, Harry slipped his loafers off at the base of the stairs before he moved down the hallway towards the light.

He didn't know what he'd find in the room. Maybe a letter from Hermione telling him to piss off? Or even something similar to the scene he'd walked in on the first night he'd brought her home. Hell, he wouldn't even be mad if that was what lay inside. He'd understand. He might even blast a hole in a few pieces of his furniture alongside her.

But he was not prepared for what actually awaited him.

Hermione was on the couch, curled beneath a thin throw blanket on the end closest to the fireplace. The room was intact. No destroyed furniture. No stuffing spilling from pillows. No bottles of liquor. Nothing was out of order.

In fact, although he couldn't be certain, it was almost as if the room was tidier than he'd left it earlier, as his overnight bag was not sitting on the floor.

A twinge of guilt flared within his heart as he watched her from across the room. Her frizzy hair spilled across the couch pillows as she slept, only the steady rise and fall of her chest giving away she was even alive.

He'd left her to collect his thoughts, yes. But instead, he'd ended up kissing Malfoy—again. While she cried on the couch, waiting for either one of them to return, they'd fucking snogged.

Harry cursed his own stupidity, tears welling in his own eyes as he walked closer to her, careful to keep his footsteps light so he didn't wake her.

He kneeled onto the couch, slowly lowering himself behind her, and he adjusted the throw over the both of them before his arms encircled her waist. He pulled her into his body until she rested against his chest, her hands sliding to rest over his heart in her sleep.

Harry leaned down, pressing soft kisses on the crown of her head as his tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, leaving a small trail down his cheeks and chin. Merlin, what had he done? He'd only added to her pain this evening. He'd promised to keep her safe. He'd promised to never hurt her, to never leave her again, and all he'd done so far was fuck up the promises he'd made.

His hand rose, and he buried his fingers into the curls that hung long on her shoulders, feeling their soft weight as he leaned into nuzzle his cheek against her hair, enveloping himself in her scent. "I'm sorry, 'Mione," he whispered to her, knowing fully well that she would never hear his words, but he had to say them aloud. It wasn't just for her ears, but for his own as well. "I love you. I won't let this happen again. I swear it. I'll make this right."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Sorry for the slight delay. Lots of craziness happening in real life that prevented this from going up this morning. Hope it was worth the wait. As always, thanks you so much for the kudos/likes/follows/favorites and reviews. They truly warm my soul. until next time. xx


	19. We

Draco wasn't sure he had ever gotten a worse night's sleep, and he'd slept in a bloody cell in Azkaban, so that was truly saying something.

He'd taken a room at the Hog's Head for the night after Harry's sudden departure.

He should have gone back to Grimmauld Place, but he hadn't been ready to face either Potter or Granger after what had happened.

The shagging.

The kiss.

He'd spent the night laying on a too-hard mattress under a thin quilt with his mind racing through the possibilities that would explain why he felt so strongly for both of them. Out of all the possible explanations, his mind kept drawing back to one option that seemed so bloody improbable he kept dismissing it until he simply couldn't anymore.

They were a triad.

It wasn't like it was absolutely unheard of. The concept had literally been about since the start of wizard-kind. Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue were the first documented triad. Their three magics called to one another, forming a bond that not even death could separate. They had literally almost destroyed the world on more than one occasion, but Draco had always assumed those stories were just myths to help explain why sometimes three souls called to one another.

After all, while not unheard of, triads were definitely not common. There were only a small handful every generation. And typically speaking, the nature of a triad relationship was kept hidden away from the prying eyes of the public.

By the time morning rays beckoned him from the bed, Draco scourgified his outfit clean, paid his tab, and made up his bloody mind to tell them both how he felt. He was bound and determined to define whatever this feeling was that so clearly flowed between the three of them. The same bloody one they had all so desperately tried to ignore.

He apparated to the park across from Grimmauld Place, using the shelter from a thicket of trees to conceal his sudden appearance from the Muggles who might have lingered about. Crossing the still wet lawn, Draco made his way up the stairs to the front door and pulled his wand from his pocket. " _Alohamora_."

He waited for the scraping sound of the lock unlatching before he moved inside the place he'd been calling home for the past several weeks. Gently shutting the door behind him, he moved down the hallway silently, keeping an ear open to see if he could pick up on where Harry and Hermione were in the house.

The distant clink of cutlery tinking against porcelain echoed up from the basement, giving away their location easily.

Draco moved down the stairs, his hands adjusting his clothing nervously as he moved. Despite being in a day old outfit, he needed to look perfect. Perhaps it was a deep-seated habit, or maybe it was because he knew what he was going to tell them was absolutely positively insane.

The moment his loafers touched the floor, he could feel two sets of eyes on him. Whatever conversation they'd been having hung in the air unfinished. Draco ran his tongue across his bottom lip as he looked across the kitchen where they sat at the end of the long table. Potter sat at the head, his normal spot, a piece of toast hanging from the corner of his mouth, while Hermione sat to his left, a mug of what he knew would be Earl Grey with two spoonfuls of sugar and a healthy splash of cream. "We need to talk."

"No shite," Harry said as he pulled the toast from his lips after taking a rough bite, and he tossed it on his plate. "It's nice of you to finally join us."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed as she gave Harry a wide eyed look before turning her attention back to Draco. "Why don't you take a seat?" she offered, lifting her wand to summon a clean mug from the cupboard for him.

Draco nodded, walking up the length of the table opposite from the side she sat, and he claimed what had become his spot directly across from her and to the immediate left of Harry. He watched silently as Hermione prepared his cup. Half a spoon of sugar, no milk.

He had lived alongside her for months now, and somewhere along the way she'd picked up how he preferred his morning cup without prompting. Just as he had hers. It was the same for Potter. Draco knew the wizard preferred coffee to tea but only drank one cup around ten each morning. He could feel his heart swell despite wanting to remain calm and collected. His magic seeped from his pores, begging for theirs to come join him as he reached out, taking the mug from Hermione when offered. "Thank you."

Their fingers brushed together, and nearly instantly the spark returned. Hermione's eyes widened infinitesimally before she pulled back, giving the smallest smile possible toward the blond wizard before she took her seat.

"Grang— Hermione," Draco corrected himself after he took a small sip from the mug she'd handed him. "I'd like to start off by apologizing."

Hermione shook her head, lifting her hand toward Draco. "I'd actually like to go first, if it's alright with you," she said confidently, glancing at Harry, who have her a small nod in support.

Last night had been far from the lowest point in her life, but it had been close. She had been broken, alone, and fucking petrified she'd ruined everything. She'd spent hours crying on the couch before finally falling asleep from pure exhaustion. She'd craved a reprieve from the pain, and had been tempted to leave Grimmauld Place with a pocketful of coins and a mind intent on finding release. But she hadn't. She hadn't dared to step foot outside the building that had become her safety net because no matter how badly she wanted a drink or desperately she craved a pill, the drive to stay sober was greater.

She might be broken. She might have fucked up. She might have blasted any chance she had at finding happiness with Harry to smithereens, but she wasn't going to let that derail her any longer. She was bound and determined to stay the course. To fight the impulses inside her and become the person that Harry and Draco believed her to be.

Which is why when she woke up earlier this morning wrapped in the warmth of Harry's arms, her tears fell renewed. Not tears of sorrow, but of relief. He had come back like he promised.

They spent the early daylight hours talking about what had happened between her and Draco, as well as what had occurred between him and Harry. For the first time since the compulsion appeared, they spoke plainly about not only their attraction to one another, but also the way they felt about Draco.

By the time their bellies rumbled, signaling their need for food, Hermione and Harry had pieced together something they truthfully didn't understand any part of.

Something she dared to guess was far bigger than they assumed.

Draco tipped his head and gestured for her to continue, leaning back in his chair as he crossed one leg over the other in casual comfort. "By all means."

"I love Harry. I'm pretty sure I always have in some capacity… but it's _different_ now," she started, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tried to formulate words that could even begin to describe the complex feelings that lay inside her soul. Abandoning her mug, Hermione pressed her palms into the wooden table, using the feeling of the rough grain beneath her fingertips to ground her as she took a deep breath. "After the war, I was alone. Not just in a physical sense, but emotionally. Completely. Harry was busy. Ron was… well, doing whatever Ron does," she said with a laugh that she knew didn't quite meet her eyes.

"I'd forgotten what it felt like—to be cared for. To be loved. So when I started to develop feelings for you, I thought it was self-sabotage," she said slowly, carefully choosing her words as her eyes flickered between Draco and Harry. A thin layer of sweat coated her palms and the back of her neck as her anxiety ticked higher. Inside her head, the long held mantra played, coaxing her deeper into the waves of unease. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he didn't feel the same. Maybe she wasn't worth it.

Draco stayed silent, his lips pressed together in a thoughtful fashion she hadn't seen since their days inside a potion's classroom, studying her with an astute curiosity that did little to ease her worry. As she looked across the table at him, she could feel her magic brush against his like a cat —seeking, searching for warmth and acceptance.

She chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes locked on his, trying to determine if he possibly felt the same before she dared admit her feelings aloud. It wasn't until she felt something brush against her hand on the table that she finally pulled her gaze from the blond wizard's.

Harry was leaning across the table, his arm outstretched so he could place a hand over hers, providing her much needed support. Instantly, a calming warmth spread up her arm, enrapturing her heart and magical core as he smiled at her. Without words, he let her know it would be okay. That no matter what—even if Draco didn't agree—he would be there for her. He would come back.

He would _always_ come back.

"Draco." Hermione breathed his name, looking back across the table to the stoic wizard, her chest filling with a courage that felt foreign after being absent for nearly ten years. "I want to—"

"We want to," Harry interrupted, gently squeezing her hand.

"Right. _We_ want to be with you, too," she said with a small nod.

Draco looked between the pair silently, his Occlumency in place and hiding his emotions behind a mask of apathy. Only the most gifted of Legilimens would have been able to pick up the elation he felt behind it. His fingers twitched on his mug, his heartbeat fluttering beneath his ribs like a hummingbird's wings. They wanted him. _They_ wanted him.

"Are you certain?" His voice was flat, void of any emotion.

Harry frowned, his brow knitting as he looked across the table to Draco. The love and support he'd showered on Granger still lingered in his emerald eyes, but confusion seeped in, threatening to overtake his confidence. "Do you not feel it?"

Draco lifted a brow at Harry as he brought his mug to his lips, taking a small sip of his cooling tea to mask the thrum of excitement that jolted through his body, slamming into his shields, threatening to crumble his façade.

"Don't do that. Don't play coy because you're too bloody scared or stupid to admit what's happening here." Harry said with a deepening frown. "You feel it too, or you wouldn't have kissed me back."

"Maybe I just like shagging?" Draco responded with a casual indifference as he set his mug on the table before him. One hand stayed wrapped around it while he dragged his fingertip around the rim in slow, methodical circles, his eyes flickering between Potter or Granger.

He didn't know what he was waiting for. Why he wouldn't tell them he felt the same. Part of it was fear, even he could acknowledge that. What they were hinting at— the idea of the three of them together was exactly the conclusion he came to on his own the night before, but he needed to make sure this was truly what they desired. He needed to know they were all in on trying this before he showed them his hand.

"You're lying," Hermione spoke up, the feminine saccharine quality to her voice slicing right through his shield and piercing his heart. "I know you feel it. I can see it when you look at Harry, when you work with me. This feeling isn't new for you, is it? It's always been there."

Draco ran his tongue across his bottom lip, his pulse thumping so rapidly he could swear his heart was in his fingertips. She couldn't possibly know that. He'd only just figured it out himself. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Hermione slipped her hand from Harry's before rising from the table. "I never noticed it before, but I think I've always needed both of you. At school, I was okay because I had Harry, and you were there too—in the castle. But… this feeling—this darkness—started during the war when we skipped our seventh year. And I'd wager to guess that's when it started for you, too," she said as she paced behind her chair, her eyes focusing on the ceiling as she followed the string of thoughts that whirled through her mind. The ideas could possibly explain why, now that she had both of them in her life, everything seemed to work.

"My sobriety isn't working because I'm strong or because I don't want to drink. I want it. I want it so fucking bad that my hands still shake at the memory of how it tastes. It's working _because_ I have you—both of you." She reached up, pushing her fingers through her hair to brush it from her face as she turned to face Draco, standing directly beside Harry now, expression brimming with a longing and desire she no longer wished to keep hidden. "I can't explain it. I've tried to talk myself out of it, but Draco… I need you both like I need air to breath. It's not just physical, or… or spiritual or whatever the hell you want to call it. It's everything wrapped in one. I don't get it, but I can feel it in bones. Like how my magic feels. It's a part of me already."

Draco's finger paused it's rotation around the rim of his mug, and all at once his shields dropped. His magic burst out of him like water from a breaking dam. He watched, helpless to prevent it as it sought out its matches. It wound around Hermione, stealing her breath, seeping into Harry until his eyes fluttered shut. Did Draco feel it? Of course he fucking did. The desire for both of them grew stronger each day until he wasn't sure he could fill his lungs properly from trying to contain it.

Rising from the table, he closed the distance between them. His right hand fell on Harry's shoulder, his fingers pressing into the thick band of muscle that ran across his shoulder as he slipped his left hand into the curls on the side of Hermione's head. His touch was gentle, encouraging, not demanding as he pulled her towards him.

His head lowered, and he dragged his lips across hers in a featherlight kiss.

"Of course I feel it," he whispered into her parted lips, his eyes opening to look down at her, wanting to remember every freckle, every lash and contour of her face in this moment. This moment when they finally spoke of the magic they'd been denying for too fucking long.

Hermione's knees trembled as she leaned into his touch, her magic twisting and winding into both Harry's and Draco's as she stood between the two. She could feel Harry's hands at her waist, holding her upright, and Draco's in her hair, his fingers pressing against her scalp, causing goosebumps to run the length of her arms.

"This isn't going to be easy." Draco's breath ghosted across her face, causing a slow pink to blossom on the apples of her cheeks. "Triads aren't common. The backlash for being with a former Death Eater will be great."

Distantly, she could make out the sound of Harry's chair scraping across the kitchen floor over the sound of her pulse. She didn't know when it happened exactly, but one moment she was standing before Draco, putty in his hands, and the next she was sandwiched between the wizards that had captivated her heart and soul. The feel of Harry's hard chest against her back made her body rush with warmth, her entire being overheated as his hands moved across her hips and under her jumper to brush across the skin on her abdomen.

"We'll figure it out." The rumble of Harry's baritone vibrated against her back as he spoke, his mouth centimetres away from her ear.

Hermione gulped, watching as Draco looked up to the wizard, the corner of his lips pulling just slightly in the hint of a smile that made her heart skip a beat. "Yes," Draco said slowly as he lifted his hand from Harry's shoulder, his fingers moving to trace the length of Harry's stubbled jawline. "We certainly will."

Hermione stood frozen, watching as Draco pulled Harry's face toward him by his chin, her heart beating so loudly it was a wonder the Muggles who lived next door couldn't hear it hammer against her ribs. When their lips touched, her knees buckled in response. If it weren't for her being sandwiched between their bodies, she was certain she would have collapsed. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening as she watched them kiss with a familiarity that she envied.

She watched as Draco took control of the kiss, guiding Harry's head to the side with a soft tug of his hair, angling her boyfriend's mouth until his own tongue could slip in. This moment between them was intimate, a longing decades in the making now, but she simply couldn't look away. Her hands moved to Draco's chest, sliding across his lithe frame until they rested just at the base of his neck where her fingers stroked against the taut muscle that ran its length.

It wasn't until their kiss broke and Draco turned his predatory gaze back to her, the tiniest hint of affection sparkling deep within the molten steel that had become his eyes, that she realised just how deeply, entirely, and completely she needed them both.

* * *

Draco wanted to take things slow.

 _Slow._

Hermione hated slow.

She loathed it.

She had never done a single thing slow in her entire life.

She was walking at eight months old, running by nine months. Reading at three and devouring novels by six. Her parents once joked she was born ready to rule the world based solely on her inability to slow down.

Which might explain why she consumed things as opposed to delicately dipping her toes in the waters. It was all or nothing, and she longed to run head first into the irreversibility of what this relationship brewing between the three of them meant.

They were a triad, according to Draco, something neither she nor Harry were even vaguely familiar with. In the Muggle world, they would just be polyamorous, but Draco insisted it was more than that. It was beyond the physical compulsion that brought them together. It ran in their blood. Their magic called to one another.

She would be lying if she said the idea didn't intrigue her. How could it not? But finding literature on the topic proved to be near impossible. The library that remained at Grimmauld Place post-remodel did not contain a single book on the topic.

Deciding to take her chances outside the ancient library, Hermione tried Flourish and Blott's, but again came up empty handed since she was limited to search the aisles of books by herself. They had all agreed—her begrudgingly so—that they should keep their relationship under wraps until Draco had a chance to craft a plan on how they would introduce their triad to wizarding society. Which meant she couldn't very well walk up to Terry and ask which section in the store contained information about triads without it raising an eyebrow.

Harry encouraged her to not dig too far into her investigation, but rather enjoy the ride of figuring out the dynamic of what their relationship would be. She wasn't just dating two entirely different people. She was dating two different wizards who in turn were also dating each other. Even the logistics behind it made her head ache. How would their future work? Was marriage an option? Child rearing? And sweet merciful Merlin, what about sex? Who would go where? How would limbs not get in the way and how would she be able to make it through watching them snog without spontaneously combusting?!

These were the questions that ran through the back of her mind, overtaking the mantra of self-despair that had died to a whisper—barely even registering in her consciousness since they all had finally come clean with their feelings.

Two weeks had passed since that moment in the kitchen. The physical relationship between the three of the hadn't progressed past kissing—though conflicts in their schedules prevented much of their impulse to take things further.

Her days were still spent in Draco's company, and filled with photo opportunities, charity work, and interviews in various publications. And her nights were spent in Harry's bed, where they stole kisses and enjoyed the rapture his touch left on her skin. As much as she enjoyed the arrangement, she longed to run down the hall and pull the blond wizard into their bed. To feel his magic pulse with hers towards a hedonistic release.

But he wouldn't budge.

He wanted to _court_ her. Something he'd never done with Harry.

She tried to fight it, insisting she didn't need dates and chivalry, but the look in his eye told her this was yet another one of his non-negotiable terms.

That was how she found herself standing in front of the full length mirror in Harry's bedroom, her hands smoothing across the lace arms of a modest cocktail dress that she'd picked up from a Muggle boutique earlier in the week.

Her hair was left down save for the front, which was in a thick braid across the crown of her head, keeping her face free from any falling strands. She was going on a date. Not just any sort of date, because Merlin forbid Draco do something normal such as getting ice cream in the park or going to the cinema. No, they were going on a proper, grown-up, fancy restaurant with items on the menu she couldn't even pronounce, night on the town kind of date that she'd only read about in romance novels.

Draco had spent the better part of a week researching local Muggle restaurants that he could whisk her away to—obviously opting for Muggle due to the level of privacy it provided. She'd walked in on a hushed conversation between the pair of men on Tuesday evening, only finding out later that Draco had been running his restaurant selection by Harry for approval.

Despite thinking this whole ordeal unnecessary and rather stupid because no amount of courting was actually needed—she already knew she wanted to be with him—even she could admit the idea of going on a date with just Draco caused butterflies to flutter to life in her belly. She'd spent time alone with him before, but now it was different. There was no pretense of work. It would be just them, enjoying each other's company. It would be his lips she could steal kisses from in the dark instead of Harry's.

Picking up her wand from her nightstand, Hermione cast a quick beauty charm on her makeup, preventing it from smearing or fading for the next six hours. With one final look in the mirror, she stepped into the strappy heels that sat on the floor in front of her bed tucking her wand safely away in her clutch before she headed out of the bedroom towards her wizards that waited in the sitting room.

* * *

Draco had changed no less than three times this evening. Each suit he selected felt entirely wrong. Too professional. Too black. Too close to the ones he had worn in his youth.

He wanted everything to be perfect, from the coif of his hair down to the colour socks he wore. He _needed_ this to be perfect. Because that was exactly what she was to him.

"Calm down," Harry said from behind the _P_ _rophet'_ s evening edition. He had ambled down from the shower earlier, remaining shirtless in a pair of denim trousers, looking every bit of sinfully delicious as Draco knew he could be. Harry had always had this aloof sort of cool in the way he held himself. He never tried to be liked or popular. He just was. Draco used to hate him for it, but now? Well, now he wanted to snog him into submission.

"I am calm," Draco lied, his fingers adjusting his cufflinks for the umpteenth time before he smoothed the lapels on his grey suit jacket.

Harry let out a short laugh before closing the periodical and folding it in half, dropping it beside him. His right arm lifted to stretch across the back of the couch as he leaned onto his left, tucking his fist under his chin as he looked at the wizard over the top of this thick black framed glasses. "You're pacing. You keep touching your pocket to make sure you've got your wallet, and you will not stop looking down the hallway. You're nervous."

"I'm eager," Draco insisted, his hands dropping to his sides when he felt Harry's eyes drop to see him adjust the metal band of his watch around his wrist yet again.

"Clearly." Harry smirked before pushing up from the couch. Bare feet carried him closer, until he was within arm's reach from Draco. The fresh scent of Harry's shampoo, mixed with the hint of spearmint from his toothpaste overpowered his senses, and nearly immediately, Draco could feel himself relax.

"You look very dashing," Harry whispered as he reached to adjust the off-white collar of Draco's oxford, his knuckles rubbing against Draco's Adam's apple ever so slightly. "She'll think so, too."

Draco's eyes fluttered closed, Harry's words echoing in his mind. Merlin, he hoped so. Reaching out, he placed a single hand on Harry's waist, his thumb stroking across the soft skin as he stepped into his body until their hips seated against one another. Draco leaned in, pressing his forehead into Harry's until their noses touched. "I just want this to be perfect," he whispered.

Harry draped his arms around Draco's shoulders, careful to avoid touching his hair as to not give the wizard an aneurism in his quest for perfection. "You could take her to Three Broomsticks and it wouldn't matter," Harry informed him, his voice matching the whispered tone Draco had set. "She just wants to be with you, you idiot."

"I know…but—"

"No buts." Harry cut him off, moving his hand to press a single finger against his lips to silence him. "You'll be fine. It'll be fine." He traced the wizard's lips, emerald eyes dropping to watch them part ever so slightly under his touch. His finger ran down Draco's bottom lip and across his chin before Harry captured it between his thumb and forefinger, bringing the wizard to him in a slow, sweet kiss.

Draco melted. The tension that had built in his shoulders faded as he felt Harry's magic pour into him through the kiss, and just as he opened his mouth to deepen their lip lock, he felt Harry pull away.

"Later," Harry promised with a purr, his nose nudging against Draco's before he pulled back enough to plant a soft kiss on the center of his forehead. "Tonight's about you two."

Draco smiled at the encouragement. Triads were not easy. Jealousy, anger, and mistrust could plague the possibility of a powerful union, which is why Harry's acceptance and support of this date was so crucial in these first steps they took together.

"Am I interrupting something?" Hermione called from across the room.

At one time they might have split apart, their eyes wide with the fear of getting caught, but now Draco only looked towards her, his hands still at Harry's waist, stroking across his skin. "Not at all."

Harry's smile brightened, reaching his eyes as he looked at his girlfriend from across the room. "Wow, 'Mione," he said as he dragged his eyes down her outfit with a low whistle. "You look stunning."

Hermione looked down at her dress, her hands instinctively dropping to her stomach, smoothing out the lace material before she looked back up at her boyfriends. "Yeah?"

Draco nodded, his eyes twinkling in the artificial light as he looked her over. "Positively," he agreed. Turning, he placed a chaste kiss on Harry's lips, silently thanking him for his words of wisdom moments earlier before he slipped from Harry's grasp and moved towards her. "Our reservation is at six thirty. It'll be a small walk to the bistro. Will you be okay in heels?"

"I've already charmed them," Hermione said, tapping her clutch against her thigh. "And worse case scenario, I can always transfigure them into flats if they become too painful."

"Or Draco could be a gentleman and offer to carry you," Harry teased, moving up behind Draco and pinching his boyfriend's arse before reaching around him to pull Hermione into his embrace, planting a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth so he didn't mess up her rouged lips.

"I am a gentleman, not a bloody athlete," Draco mumbled, his hand dropping to rub his backside. "It's not quite a kilometer. You ought to be fine."

Hermione leaned into Harry, enjoying the casual affection that had developed between the three over the past two days. For the first time in years, she finally felt like herself. Whole. Complete. At ease.

"Ready, love?" Draco questioned as he extended a hand towards her, lifting a brow at her as his head cocked towards the door.

"Wait just a minute, Malfoy," Harry said quickly, playfully blocking his outstretched hand with his body. "You get her all bloody night. Give me just a minute to say goodbye," he said over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes on the wizard before he turned back to Hermione, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. "Have fun, okay?"

Hermione nodded, reaching up to lay her hand on top of his. "Okay."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Harry whispered, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

Hermione laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she looked up at him. "Didn't you shag him on the first night you met him again after Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned, glancing briefly over to Draco, who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking every bit as amused by this as she was.

"Yes. Which is precisely why I said don't do something I wouldn't do," Harry replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his fingertips ghosting across her jaw to her neck, then finally dropping to run across the scoop of her neckline. "I mean, have you seen him tonight? I wouldn't stay in that restaurant long."

"Potter." Draco's tone was scolding, but the look in his eyes told a different story as his boyfriend gave him a glance over his shoulder.

"Alright, alright. Geez." Harry sighed, waving off Draco. He turned his attention back to Hermione and leaned in once more to kiss her forehead before he stepped out of the way so she could move to Draco's side. "In all seriousness, don't stay out too late. We've got a meeting at the Ministry tomorrow morning," Harry reminded Hermione, walking backwards towards the couch.

"I know. We won't," she promised as she laced her fingers with Draco's, the spark of magic instantly appearing between them. The low, familiar thrum of new love enraptured her in ways she had long lost hope of ever feeling again. She turned to look up at Draco, giving his hand a small squeeze as a shy smile replaced her cheeky grin. "Ready?" She breathed her question, just loud enough for him to hear.

"I've been waiting for this moment for months now," Draco confessed as he looked down at her, taking in the way her chestnut curls shined in the light as if there were ribbons of caramel mixed in. The way her rouged lips looked like freshly plucked berries, ripe and ready for him to eat. The way her perfume made the world smell like jasmines, honey, and hope. Hope that one day he'd feel this way forever. "Of course I'm ready."

* * *

Dinner was sublime. Though, to be fair, even if it had tasted like absolute shite, Hermione probably wouldn't have cared.

Everything was perfect.

The evening was spent in a tiny Muggle bistro on Endell Street.

They drank sparkling water, ate freshly baked French bread, and shared the most delicious cassoulet either of them had ever eaten.

They shared stories of their childhoods, laughed about their past, and spoke plainly about their future and the uncertainty of it all. As the night progressed, she found herself falling more and more in love with the man who had once been her childhood enemy.

They stayed until closing, so lost in conversation that they simply didn't notice how late the hour had gotten until the maître d' apologetically interrupted them mid-conversation to ask them to leave.

Draco walked with her hand in his through the Muggle neighbourhood, his suit jacket draped over her shoulders to keep her warm from the cold, as they lazily made their way towards the Apparition point just beyond the Leaky Cauldron.

By the time they made it back to Grimmauld Place, it was nearly midnight.

They walked upstairs silently, having slipped off their shoes near the front door so as to not wake Harry.

Her painted toes sunk into the rug that ran the length of their hallway, her fingers still laced with Draco's as she tugged him down the hall towards Harry's door.

"Hermione," Draco whispered, pausing just at the threshold of Harry's room, not daring to step foot inside.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, the baby fine curls peeking out from her braid shimmering in the distant light from the first floor hallway. "You aren't coming?" Hermione whispered, her eyes dropping to look at his socked feet that didn't dare move an inch over the threshold that separated Harry's flooring from the hallway.

"I want to… more than you could ever possibly imagine," he whispered, a primal need glinting in his eyes. "But I shouldn't."

Hermione nodded. She didn't like the answer, but she understood. He didn't have the history that she and Harry shared, the years of friendship and mutual respect that made their transition into a couple seamless. She stepped back towards him, pulling Harry's door nearly shut behind her before she turned to face him.

Unlacing her hand from his, she lifted it to his cheek, her knuckles stroking softly across the blond stubble that had grown over the length of the evening, and she smiled. "Would you change your mind if I promised not to do anything?"

Draco's hands found her waist. His hold was familiar and comforting as he eased her body into his, his right hand sliding to her lower back. "It's not you I don't trust."

"I'll keep Harry in line."

Draco's chest rumbled with laughter, low and melodic. The sound was something she so rarely heard, something she savored each time she was lucky enough to hear it. "You're cheeky."

"I try." Leaning up on her toes, her lips met his in a chaste kiss, not daring to push her luck, as the quick pecks were all he had allowed since their kiss in the kitchen. But as she began to pull away, his head followed hers until their lips met once more.

Her body molded to his, her arms slowly draping across his shoulders as his fingers danced up her spine to cup the back of her head and his tongue swept across her bottom lip, asking entrance.

Her lips parted as her soul fell apart. The fractures from the trauma that had once broken her apart were filled with his magic, beckoning her own to come out and dance. In this moment, everything and nothing mattered all at once. He was the very centre of her universe, promising love, devotion and protection in a single kiss.

Her hands slipped into his impossibly soft hair, letting it card through her fingers as she mewled softly into his mouth, her body already begging for more than she knew he was willing to give her tonight.

And just as quickly as it started, Draco ended their kiss with a gentle peck on her lips, his nose nuzzling against hers before he pulled back completely from her touch.

His chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths. His eyes were dark with desire, and his lips swollen. His heart beat wildly, pounding painfully against his ribs as he looked at her, a longing thrumbing with each breath he took until all he could think of was how badly he wanted her—and the wizard he knew lay behind that door. "Good night, Hermione," he said slowly, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip.

Her fingers rose, touching her smile as she nodded, cursing and respecting his composure in the same breath. "Good night, Draco," she returned before reaching behind her to the door handle, and with a small push, she moved inside Harry's room.

She closed the door behind her with a soft snap, trying her best to mute the noise as she set her clutch on what had become her nightstand. She lowered the zip of her dress, listening to Harry's heavy breathing where he slept on his side of the bed, a single arm extended towards her side so he could feel when she finally arrived.

Her dress pooled around her ankles, and she stepped out of the garment before kneeling on the mattress. Her hands unhooked her bra, and she slipped it down her arms and tossed it on the floor beside the rest of her clothing. She crawled across the king size bed towards Harry, slipping beneath the covers beside him, and she snuggled close enough to wrap her arms around his waist.

Her breasts pressed into his back, her body absorbing his heat as she nuzzled her nose at the top of his spine, inhaling deeply until all she could smell was his aroma. Cinnamon, aftershave, and spearmint.

"How was it?" His sleepy grumble rumbled as his arm dropped to lay over hers at his waist, his fingers lacing through her own. Harry brought her palm up to his lips, where he pressed a gentle kiss to the centre.

"Wonderful." She whispered her reply against his skin, her lips brushing across a faint scar on his shoulder. "We can talk in the morning though… go back to sleep."

Harry rolled over, careful not to harm her with his elbows. A hand was already at his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them as he draped his other arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. "Nonsense. I want to hear all about it," he said through a sleepy yawn, his face scrunching in an adorable boyish fashion before he looked down at her, only daring to crack one eye open in the darkness. "And don't you dare leave any details out."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

As always, thank you for the kudos, likes, reviews & follows. I am bubbling in anticipation to hear the collective sigh of relief you all are letting loose because these bonheads FINALLY talked. ;)

Until next week.

Side note: If you have not checked out Queen of Swords, written by my lovely Beta Ravenslight I could recommend you do so immediately. Deliciously dark, it hooks you from the first chapter!


	20. The Beast of The Ball

Dating was fun. She had never truly been courted before, so this whole world of going to fancy restaurants with Draco and hitting the Muggle world with Harry for a reprieve from wizarding life was an entirely new experience for her.

While Hermione enjoyed the time she got to spend with Draco and Harry separately, she would be lying if she said she wasn't pining for a chance for them all to be together.

Late at night, when the house was quiet and both of her boys were lost in dreamland in their respective beds, she allowed herself to think of the various things she might get to try and explore with them.

It had only been two weeks since her first date with Draco, and they were still so bloody new to this triad concept, but something about the pull was almost primal, as if her body would know exactly what to do when the time came.

Of course, this prospect didn't _just_ excite her. It made her heart flutter, her soul soar and her body ache for them to come together as a group. She'd walked in on Draco and Harry snogging a number of times in the evening. And although they would never admit it, she was fairly certain they were doing more than just picking up their dress robes from the tailor's earlier this week, judging from the massive love bites that she had found on Harry's shoulders that same night.

Not wanting to be outdone, she added a few of her own by the time the sun rose the next morning.

Hermione looked at her dress on the hanger one last time, her head cocking to the side as she examined the golden sparkly fabric curiously. "Are you sure this is appropriate, Draco?" Hermione called out to him from the bathroom where she had spent the last hour getting her makeup set and hair curled to perfection.

"Just put the bloody thing on!" Harry answered for their boyfriend with an exasperated growl.

What followed was Draco's short laugh and the squeak of Harry and her mattress springs. "Yes, the outfit is fine," he said through the door, obviously walking closer towards her based on the way his voice grew louder.

"It's just… flashy. I usually try to blend in." Hermione rose onto her toes as she slipped the thin straps from the hanger. She handled the dress delicately, afraid she might ruin it before she got a chance to even put it on. Lowering the zip on the side, she stepped in and began to shimmy it up her petite frame.

"I hate to break it to you, love, but the two of you stand out in a crowd regardless of how badly you wish you didn't," Draco teased, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door. He glanced back over to Harry, who lay on his bed playing with a golden snitch that had been charmed to fly at half speed. "Besides, the gold will match Harry's robes perfectly, which is the whole point of this. The two of you coming out as a couple."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the reminder as she grabbed her wand from the counter, and, with a quick tap against her hip, the zipper magically rose. "I'm still not so sure about that, Draco," Hermione said as she turned to examine the back of her dress in the mirror. It was low cut, not plunging down to her lower back like the first dress he'd selected, but low enough that the back of her bra would show. "I'm dating both of you, not just Harry."

"Told you!" Harry crowed from his reclined position on his bed, his hands folding across his abdomen as a smart smirk spilled across his features. "Since two out of three of us are on board to say fuck it and announce our triad instead of this slow and methodical bullshite you're insisting upon, I say the majority wins."

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head at Harry before looking back to the closed door. His hand rose, and he pressed it against the wood, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to see or hear the action, but it was more for himself anyways. As if touching the door could mimic the physical touch he wished he have in that moment. "You know precisely why we have to do it this way, Hermione."

Hermione let out a heavy sigh. "I think you're being overly cautious about the whole ordeal," she admitted as she set her wand down on her vanity before reaching back and unclasping her bra. With a quick shimmy of her shoulders, she pulled it out from her dress and tossed it onto the counter before adjusting her breasts in the mirror.

"Of course you do." Draco sighed as he slid his hand from the door, and he turned to lean back on the wall beside it, smirking at Harry, who played with the bottom of his cummerbund while he lounged in the bed. "Stop it, you're going to ruin it," Draco whispered.

Harry glanced up, his hands freezing at his waist, and he rolled his eyes before smoothing out the fabric. "Yes, _Dad_ "

"Keep it up, and I'll make you call me that later," Draco warned, his voice dropping an octave.

Harry instantly picked up on the heated tone, causing a rush of heat to flare to life low in his belly. "Don't tempt me with a good time, Malfoy."

Before Draco could even so much as open his mouth, the bathroom door finally opened, and Hermione walked out—an absolute vision in gold. The dress hugged her frame, the golden fabric practically dripping off her curves in a sinful way that Draco was fairly certain might be illegal in several wizarding communities around the world. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he held out his hand towards her.

"Merlin's pants, 'Mione." Harry sat up on the bed, his legs swinging to the ground as his smile brightened. "You look great."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said with an affectionate grin as she stepped closer to Draco, turning her caramel coloured eyes to the blond as she moved into his hold. "I would feel a lot better about attending if we were announcing ourselves as a triad." Her left hand went to Draco's chest, and a shiver ran down her spine as she felt his hand traveled across her lower back just above her arse.

Draco hummed in acknowledgment, knowing full well that he was not going to escape from this conversation without an argument and tonight he was desperately trying to avoid just that. Leaning down he pressed a chaste kiss just at the corner of her eye before dragging his lips to her ear, just far enough away that they barely brushed against the shell as he spoke softly to her. "That'll come soon enough, love. Just relax and enjoy being on Harry's arm tonight. I know I'll enjoy watching you both."

Hermione leaned into him, her eyes drifting closed as she felt his magic pulse against hers, coaxing the anxiety she felt brewing inside back into a submissive calm. "But—"

"But nothing. This is just the first step." Draco pulled back to look down at her, his hand slipping from her grasp, and he moved to cup her face, his thumb sweeping softly across her delicate jawline. "Hermione, you are a fool if you don't think I don't want the entire wizarding world to know you are mine."

"What about me?" Harry pouted playfully as he moved up beside the pair and wrapped his arms around their waists, pulling them closer together until Harry's front pressed into her side and her hips met Draco's.

Draco moved his hand from Hermione's waist, and he reached up to straighten the gold bowtie that sat at the base of his boyfriend's neck. "You should already know the answer to that."

"I might just want to hear you say it." Harry's thumb ran across the back seam of her dress, stroking the soft skin idly as he wagged his brows at Draco.

Hermione shivered, her teeth chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she watched Draco lean in and brush his nose against Harry's before pressing a kiss that promised so much more than the innocence it was supposed to. Merlin, she would never grow tired of watching them. Their touch was so electric that even she could feel its energy.

Harry's eyes drifted closed, and he leaned into his boyfriend's kiss, his head tilting to the side. Just as Hermione saw a splash of pink from his tongue brushing across Draco's lips, she watched the blond pull away, exhaling a shaky breath.

"We should get going." Draco's voice was low and gravelly, a clear indication that he wanted to do the exact opposite, but duty to his job prevented him from following his heart's desire.

Harry groaned, pursing his lips as a means to bite back his protest, and he turned the full force of his emerald eyes on her. "You ready, 'Mione?"

Ready for another Ministry function? Ready to deal with photographers and diplomats who were eager to shake her hand only after they had been so quick to condemn her a short few months prior? "As I'll ever be." She breathed her reply, forcing a smile to both Draco and Harry before she slipped from their grasp and straightened her gown, smoothing out the glittery fabric across her hips. "Who am I Apparating with?"

"Me," Draco spoke up quickly, ignoring the surprised look from Harry who was still trying to recover after their too short kiss. While tonight's gala was supposed to be about raising funds for the newest St. Mungo's Spell Damage ward expansion, everyone who pretended to be anyone within the Wizarding World would attend. The eyes and ears of every publication would be on his boyfriend and girlfriend all night, and even though Draco wasn't jealous per se, a small part of him wished he could be there on their arms, and couldn't be fooled into thinking otherwise.

* * *

After landing at the secure Apparition point, Draco gave Harry and Hermione a final once over before kissing them each for good luck. He then stood back, watching as Harry whisked her down the carpet towards the auditorium that had been converted into a ballroom for the evening.

Hermione could feel Draco and Harry's magic within her, helping her keep the vicious mantra at bay that still lingered in the dark recesses of her mind, waiting to pounce when the moment was right. She told herself it would be okay. That she could make it through this event because at the end of it all, she would be able to wrap herself in both of their arms and ignore the outside world once more.

The flashes of the cameras were blinding, nearly making it impossible to see where she was walking, but Harry was used to the lights. He moved with a practiced ease down the runner, his hand on her back, guiding her past the shouting reporters until Fiona from _Witch Weekly_ called their names.

And on queue—as Draco and Aurora had made them rehearse countless times before—Harry turned to face the camera, his arm slipping around her waist, and he guided her body into his in a protective hold that would leave no questions regarding the nature of their relationship.

Hermione slid her hands across his chest, one resting just over his wildly beating heart, while the other rested on the side of his neck. For the first time in ages, the smile she wore wasn't forced as she looked back to the reporters whose cameras snapped feverously, trying to capture the perfect image of what was surely going to be their headline the next morning.

Turning her head from the reporters, she looked up at Harry, and her smile widened. He had come so far from the eleven-year-old boy she met on the Hogwarts Express. Long forgotten was the awkward underfed pre-teen; the man before her was strong and confident, willing to risk it all to help her, who loved her not despite her flaws, but for them. Harry was—and probably always had been—one third of her soul. He brought out the best in her when all her thoughts focused on the worst.

Harry looked down, his brow pinching, causing three thick wrinkles to form on his forehead as he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, as he noticed her watching him instead of the crowd. His eyes left hers briefly to look at the crowd, flashing a quick smile to an overly enthusiastic report before he glanced back down once more with a cocked a brow in a silent question.

"You just look very handsome," she whispered loud enough that only he could hear.

"You look rather dashing yourself, Miss Granger," he teased in the best "Draco" voice he could muster as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He let his thumb and forefinger brush across her jaw to her chin, tipping her head back just enough for him to press a tender kiss on her painted lips.

The deafening sound of camera shutters erupted, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world revolved around that moment. His magic pushed into her, coaxing its way into every small nook and cranny of her body until she was certain there wasn't a spot within her that he did not exist.

It could have been the tingle of magic or the devotion that he poured into the kiss, but Hermione's toes curled, and her heart fluttered like the flying keys they'd faced during first year. Her nose nudged his as she slowly broke the kiss, knowing it would do no good to carry this too far when duty called for them inside.

"Draco's not going to be happy," Hermione whispered, her voice lifting in a small laugh as she felt Harry's hand dip lower across her back so his fingers curved around the swell of her backside. "You went rogue."

"He can scold me later. He wanted to sell our relationship, right? Why not give the people what they want?" Harry lifted his head to look back at the crowd, and he leaned in to press an affectionate kiss on her forehead. Raising his hand, Harry gave the crowd of reporters a wave, flashing the award winning smile that he'd perfected over the past several years in the spotlight. "You ready to get this over with?"

"Gods yes." Hermione turned from Harry's embrace, and she smoothed out the train of her dress then lifted her own hand towards the reporters, giving one final wave with a smile. Her eyes drifted down the carpet, where Draco lingered behind them, his hands in his trouser pockets with his cream dress robes parted to reveal a three piece suit beneath. To everyone else he would look cool and collected, just a publicist watching his client, but the smoulder in his eye was a secret between the three that let her know exactly how he felt.

Hermione's teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she allowed Harry to take her hand and guide her towards the auditorium, her eyes reluctantly leaving Draco's as she turned to follow Harry.

The room was brimming with life. High ranking Ministry officials mingled with celebrities and foreign dignitaries, all of whom had their pocketbooks ready to support a just cause while enjoying the free food and drink that the Ministry provided. The room was draped in shades of crimson, cream, and navy, and faery lights twinkled at the perimeter of the room.

It had been so long since her presence had been requested at one of these events that she'd nearly forgotten the breathtaking transformation they brought to the normally drab conference room. It was like they weren't in the Ministry at all. Long forgotten were the cold tiled walls and drab architecture. She paused just before the dance floor, her hand pulling Harry to a stop as she looked around to take it all in.

"Drink?" A house-elf squeaked, lifting a tray of champagne flutes towards what wizarding social media was already referring to at The Golden Couple.

"No, thank you," Harry said quickly, not offering an explanation for their lack of drink. He had made the choice weeks ago to abstain from alcohol—to support both Draco and Hermione in their efforts of remaining sober. While he might occasionally miss the taste of a barrel-aged scotch, he knew he could gather the same euphoria the alcohol gave him with one simple kiss from his boyfriend.

"Oh no, Harry. You can if you'd like," Hermione said quickly, unlacing their fingers. She turned to face him, curling both of her hands around her gold clutch. "I don't mind."

"I know you don't, but I'd rather not." Harry's eyes briefly flickered from hers across the ballroom where the Minister's booming voice called out his name, waving him to come join him, and he held up a single finger towards him.

"I think you're being summoned," Hermione teased as she glanced over to Kingsley, offering a tiny wave in greeting.

"He can wait," Harry said, stepping closer to Hermione so a couple could pass behind him. "I'll wait until Draco comes in."

"Go. It's fine. I've managed at these functions before; I know the routine," Hermione said with a small, dismissive wave of her hand across the crowd. "Besides, the sooner you put in face time here, the sooner we can go back home." Reaching up, she adjusted the gold bow tie that sat at the base of his throat, making sure it wasn't crooked before she leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Harry's hand went to her waist, his fingers brushing across the exposed skin on her back, and he gave her a sympathetic smile when the sound of Kingsley calling for him again echoed across the room. "I'll be quick," he promised, lifting his free hand to stroke the back of his fingers across her jaw.

"I know." Hermione turned into his touch, her lips brushing over his knuckles. When the impatient Minister called yet again, she couldn't help but laugh. Gently pushing him away, Hermione took a half step back, gesturing with her clutch for Harry to go.

Their life together was not going to be easy. Not with the fame that followed them around. In public, they would always be pulled in different directions. While this was not a part of her life she wanted, it was one she was prepared to live with, for in their private life she knew without a doubt Harry would always be totally and completely devoted to her and Draco.

Hermione watched Harry cross the room, the crisp lines of his black dress robes and suit accenting his bulky build, highlighting her favorite parts about his physical appearance: his broad chest; thick, strong arms; and muscular arse. Her head cocked to the side as she watched him, and she allowed herself to think of the ways she would undress him later that evening. She hoped she could convince Draco to join her in the efforts.

"Hermione?"

Pulled from her reverie, her mind skipped like a broken record, screeching to a halt as the familiar voice took her back to a time in her life that she never wished to return to. All at once, the confidence she had felt escaped her body. The warmth of Harry's magic trickled from her soul, leaving her cold, empty and alone.

Her fingers curled tightly around her clutch, and her breath hitched in her throat as dread ran down her spine, filling her bones. She turned slowly, her smile wavering only slightly as she watched her former best friend approach her. "Ron," she breathed in greeting, trying to gulp down the steadily forming lump in her throat.

The redheaded wizard closed the distance between them, looking as sharp as ever in a traditional set of purple and black dress robes, his Order of Merlin, First Class slung around his neck, sparkling brightly in the low light of the room as if magicked to draw attention. His arm was wrapped around a petite brunette who looked every bit as enraptured by the experience as Hermione had felt moments earlier. "I thought I saw you across the room," Ron said curiously before taking a sip of what Hermione could only assume was fire whiskey by the familiar amber color she had become so acquainted with over the years. "I'm surprised to see you here."

Hermione nodded, pursing her lips as she took a half step backwards to provide more space between her and the wizard who'd broken her heart in more than one way. "It's good to see you too, Ronald," she returned with a tone that was far too saccharine to be genuine. Turning her eyes to his date, Hermione flashed her a soft smile before extending her hand. "You must be his gi—"

"Friend," Ron supplied hastily, his spine straightening as he looked down to the petite witch at his side, flashing the briefest of smiles before he took another sip of his drink.

"Hullo," the brunette said as she reached out, giving Hermione's hand a weak shake. "My name's Willow."

"Lovely name. I'm Hermione." Hermione pulled her hand away, praying the witch didn't notice the slight tremble in her fingers.

"Oh, I know who you are," Willow gushed, her smile growing so large that Hermione could see her molars.

"Everyone knows you, Hermione." Ron snorted, lifting his empty glass towards his assistant who lingered just across the room, indicating he was expecting a refill before he turned his attention back to her. "Although, to be fair, we did get a glimpse of the back of your head from across the room."

Hermione frowned, her brow knitting as she glanced back to Ron, her hands wrapping around the clutch that she held in front of her waist, nails picking lightly at the beading. "Come again?"

Ron didn't bother looking at her, instead his laser- like focus was on his assistant who was approaching with a fresh tumbler. "The back of your head. You know, because you're typically stumbling drunk by this point and flat on your face….So all anyone can see..." He made a lazy gesture for the back of his head, not bothering to finish his dig before he took the glass from assistant without so much as a thank you, turning the full force of his cold eyes back on her. "Speaking of which, can Bertram get you a drink? I think I remember you having an affinity for Merlot."

Her feet felt like cement blocks, preventing her from even running away as she stood silent. White blossomed across her knuckles as she dug her nails into her purse. "No, thank you." Her voice was soft, a reflection of just how small Ron had made her feel in the ten minutes he'd spent with her. "I'm… I'm not drinking."

"Are you _really_ though?" He pressed with a critical lift of his bushy red brow. "Because we've all seen this story before, Hermione. You claim to get sober, and within the year you're flat on your face in the middle of some club with a new wizard picking up your sick."

Her heart seized in her chest as the vicious mantra that had been kept at bay for weeks returned with a vengeance. The words were loud and resounded in her mind as she watched Ron eye her disparagingly, judging her for demons and faults she had even yet to make.

Maybe he was right. Maybe this was only temporary. She'd already fucked up once. What was preventing her from doing it again? Harry would see eventually, and Draco too. They'd realise just how broken she was, how irreparable she'd become, and they'd leave. Everyone always left eventually. And then she'd be alone. Completely and utterly alone. Again.

Her shoulders sagged, and the weight of Ron's stare became physically too much to bear. Ten years. Ten fucking years, and the friendship she had once cherished was completely and utterly gone. How had the boy she had once loved morphed into something so cold and callus?

"Ron… I—"

"I mean, let's be realistic about this," Ron cut her off, lifting his hand from his date's back. "You don't _belong_ here anymore—not in this part of the wizarding world, at least. You're a mess. No matter how much money Harry spends or how many charity causes you donate money to, you're still not worth anything."

"Ron, that's not very kind," Willow whispered disapprovingly.

"Oh, shut it. I didn't bring you because I wanted your opinion," Ron said with a dismissive roll of his eyes. "This isn't any of your business."

"No, but it certainly is mine." Draco had made his way into the auditorium only moments earlier, and the second he set foot in the room, he had known something was wrong. He could feel Hermione's distress. It was like walking into a heavy fog: thick and filled with a breath stealing panic as her magic sought out comfort, searching for something—or someone—who could make this better. His hand went protectively around Hermione's shoulders, and he pulled her close until her shoulder pressed against his side.

"Malfoy," Ron sneered, years of steadfast hatred dripping in his tone as he narrowed his eyes on the wizard. "Do they just let anyone attend these functions now? Drug addicts and Death Eaters? What's next, a Knockturn Alley whore?"

Draco bristled, his lips thinning, and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. He could feel his temper rising, threatening to boil over. It was no wonder Hermione looked and felt so bloody beat down. He had only been in the worst Weasley's presence for under two minutes and was already moments away from knocking some sense into him the Muggle way. "Well, they did invite you, so they clearly aren't above inviting trash," Draco snapped.

Hermione looked up just in time to watch Ron's cheeks crimson with a maelstrom of embarrassment and rage. It was a look she had seen the red head wear many times before, except now, she was on the receiving end. Once upon a time she might have worn a look similar to his, wanting nothing more to defend Ron but those years had long sense passed and she wasn't sure she could ever feel like defending him ever again. In fact, she felt nothing for Ron. Where love and friendship once lived within her for the red headed wizard, a void now lay. He had once been a permanent fixture in her life, bringing her love and joy and friendship. But now, he was a constant reminder of her failures. A constant threat to her mental stability.

"We should get going, Hermione," Draco said quickly, glancing down at her as he gave a protective squeeze to the cap of her shoulder. "I don't think it would be good to be seen with such a pathetic excuse for a wizard."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Ron hissed, his grip so tight on the tumbler Hermione was certain it was seconds away from cracking.

Draco glanced up to Ron through his blond lashes, not even skipping a beat with his dead-panned reply. "No, I'd rather not. You're far from worth my efforts."

Willow laughed, her hand going up to cover her lips, which only earned her a hateful look from her date. Before she could apologize, Ron turned on his heel with a growl of frustration, heading across the room to speak to his publicist.

Draco dropped his hand to the middle of Hermione's back, and he let his fingers brush across her spine. He guided her through the busy room, careful to avoid the house-elf wait staff that had begun to bring out hor d'oeuvres. As they wove through the crowd, Draco pulled his eyes up from watching her, seeking out their boyfriend, his lips pressing together as he used his magic, calling for the third to their triad to come find them.

Exiting the auditorium through a set of double doors at the back of the room, Draco led Hermione down a hallway that was being used by Ministry house-elves. He muttered hushed apologizes to the working creatures for disrupting their service with their unexpected presence.

He moved quickly, careful to avoid running into the trays of food and drink as he moved to the end of the hallway where it met another. It all looked so different than the previous times he'd graced these narrow hallways, but he would never forget the way to the room he sought.

Years ago now, Draco had worn the soles of his shoes bare walking these hidden hallways. The trials following the Battle of Hogwarts had been so well attended, not just by the British Ministry of Magic, but by international news outlets and other Ministries that were pressing charges against some of the more corrupt Death Eaters. The courtrooms on the lower floors had been simply incapable of holding the crowds, even with magical assistance. So the auditorium had been converted for the eight-month proceedings.

He doubted either Hermione or Harry would remember.

But that time in his life was something he could never forget.

He wound Hermione through the hallways with a confident ease before entering a small room, pulling her quickly in behind him. It was one he had found during his visits. It had been an office at some point, from what he could tell. Perhaps for a custodian before the house-elves took over? Or maybe a wizard supervisor for the team.

In the centre of the room sat a desk, old and faded, and on the far wall were stacks of broken chairs with dusty sheets hanging over them. To his left, a wall brimmed with tools, tapes, and trinkets, and to his right, a large fireplace that looked like it could use a good cleaning dominated the wall.

Withdrawing his wand, Draco pointed it towards the fireplace, and with a flourish, a small burst of flame appeared from the tip and brought life to the long-forgotten logs that lay inside. Turning, Draco tucked his wand up his sleeve before his arms wrapped around his girlfriend, pulling her close until he could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest.

"Are you okay?" he breathed into her ear, one hand curling at the base of her neck, gently massaging the pressure points as the other curled around her waist.

Hermione closed her eyes, her body practically boneless as she lost herself in his embrace. She'd fallen so fast, so quickly giving into the familiar darkness of her mind. Her hands curled into his oxford, desperate to anchor herself to him as she felt the painful humiliation of the entire encounter break through the wall of shock that had thankfully prevented her from crumbling in front of Ron. "I don't— I don't know," she stammered, her voice breaking.

"I've got you," Draco told her, his voice firm, grounding as he swayed with her in his arms just slightly. The movement was reminiscent of the way her mother would cuddle her after she took a tumble. The embrace radiated warmth and love. Slowly but surely, she could feel his magic seep into her body, filling her bones with a reminder that he was there, and always would be.

She trembled involuntarily, her body wracked with emotions that confused her.

She was supposed to be better. She wasn't supposed to feel this way anymore. She had everything she could ever want. Not one, but _two_ boyfriends who loved and cherished her. A place to call home. And a promising future.

Then why did it matter? Why did Ron's words cut open previously healed wounds? Why did she still fucking care what anyone else thought?

Hermione buried her face in the side of Draco's neck, rising to her toes so she could properly hide in his arms, and she felt tears slip down her cheeks and splash against the collar of his shirt. "I… I need Harry," she dared to whisper, still clinging to Draco, afraid if she let go she might collapse under the weight of her emotional baggage. "I need you both."

"I know, love." Draco cooed, his hand moving to the back of her hair where he worked out the various bobby pins that held it in place, and he dropped them to the floor without a second thought until her curls hung loose down her back. His fingers pressed against her scalp, soothing the tender skin. "He's coming. He'll be here soon."

Hermione didn't know how or why, but she knew he spoke the truth. It was almost as if she could sense Harry's approach, his magic calling out to her until she could feel him seep into her the same way Draco's had. Swirling and mixing together until they created a harmonious blend.

The sound of the door unlatching echoed in the room, and Hermione looked over her shoulder, watching as Harry walked inside the room cautiously, his wand withdrawn with a stead fast caution he'd developed since the end of their second year.

"Malfoy? 'Mione?" Harry questioned, his eyes adjusting to the low light, his nose scrunching as he peered across the darkened room.

Hermione slowly turned around, and she spilled from Draco's embrace to move across the room, her heels wobbling as she launched herself at Harry, thin arms wrapping around his neck, and she allowed herself to get lost in his scent, praying the combination of each one of their colognes might calm her down from the verge of tears.

Harry's arms wrapped around her, and his wand slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor where it rattled against the tile. "Merlin, what happened?" he questioned, emerald eyes flickering up to follow Draco's slow approach.

"Weasel." Draco leaned in, pressing himself against her from behind, wrapping his arms around Hermione and letting his hands rest on Harry's waist.

"Ron?" Harry sounded confused, but his support didn't waiver. His arms tightened around her, giving her strength.

Hermione knew they must have communicated silently, for instead of rehashing what had just happened, Harry simply tucked his face beside hers, his stubbled cheek brushing against her temple as he leaned in to pepper the side of her face in gentle kisses.

"What can we do to help?" Draco questioned, his breath ghosting across her neck as he pulled her hair to the side, leaning in to press the same affection Harry rained over her to her neck. His lips brushed across her skin, leaving trails of affection and love that went directly to her heart. "We're here for you. Whatever you need."

Hermione knew exactly what they were doing without needing verbal confirmation. They were speaking her language of love—touch. They were showing her how cared for she was. How much they loved her. And while her heart kick-started back to life, thumping appreciatively beneath her chest, her mind was still littered with remaining doubt.

"Home," she whispered, her voice quivering, and she leaned back into Draco, her back pressing flat against his front, her hold on Harry loosening until just her palms rested on the back of his neck, still keeping him within reach as her eyes drifted closed. "I want to go home."

"Okay," Draco whispered, not a single ounce of hesitation in his voice. "We'll leave."

"Can you walk?" Harry followed up quickly, lips brushing across her jawline. "We can go to the Floo bank. It should be empty."

Hermione nodded. She felt unsteady even sandwiched between their hard bodies, but she was sure she could manage with the support they gave her.

Harry was the first to move, slowly stepping away from her with one final kiss to her forehead. He let his fingers lace through hers on her right hand, and he gently pulled her forward as he stooped low to pick up his wand from the floor then started towards the door, keeping a careful eye on her.

Draco took her left hand in his, his thumb rubbing across the back of her knuckles as he followed, not wanting to break the connection that flowed between the three of them. Whatever it was—triad magic, or perhaps just love—it seemed to centre Hermione, pulling her back from the brink one small step at a time.

They moved down the hallway, Harry and Draco using non-verbal cues to guide one another as they made their way through the complex tunnels of the Ministry until they managed to find the Floo bank. Pausing in front of the first working fireplace, Harry slipped his hand from Hermione's.

"Harry?" Hermione questioned, pulling Draco to a stop as she turned to face her boyfriend, brown eyes wide.

"Floo home with Draco, 'Mione." Harry stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and he set his hands on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "I'll be along shortly."

"Potter?" Draco questioned, his brow knitting as he stepped up behind her.

Harry's eyes flicked between Draco and her. There was something swirling in their depths she could not quite place. It was an entirely new emotion she'd never seen reflected on Harry's face in all her years of knowing him. Perhaps revenge? Or maybe it was a fury that he was keeping well contained, but whatever it was, it made the hairs on the top of her spine stand at attention.

"Don't be long," Draco instructed. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Harry's neck, pulling the wizard close to him and, in the process, sandwiching Hermione in between them as Draco pressed his lips against his boyfriend's.

Hermione looked up, watching as Harry leaned into the kiss, his chest pressing against hers until she felt the air slip from her lungs from the pressure of his body. Her hand rose, resting against over his heart, feeling the thundering beat. Her other hand squeezed Draco's, her thumb caressing the pulse point on his wrist.

Harry's nose nudged Draco's as he tilted his head, leaning into the kiss, losing himself in the magic that flowed freely between the three of them. Heady, intoxicating, and consuming, he knew if he continued he would never be able to leave so he could deal with his former best friend. Nipping at Draco's bottom lip, Harry slowly pulled away, his breath stuttering when the blond wizard let out a small whimper that sent a jolt of lust straight to his loins.

"Take care of her," Harry whispered, his voice low and gravely in his instruction before he looked back, dropping his eyes to look at the woman who held half of his heart. Leaning down, he pressed a sweet kiss against her lips, pouring unspoken promises into the chaste gesture before he stepped back, putting physical space between himself and those his heart longed to be with.

Draco unlaced his fingers from Hermione's, and he ran his hand up her arm, his fingers ghosting across her skin until it wrapped around her shoulder, and he gave his boyfriend a single nod before gently tugging Hermione back with him as he moved to the Floo.

Reaching into the pot, he grabbed a handful of the green powder and tossed it into the low burning fire. The rushing sound signaled it's opening, and he wrapped his arms around the petite witch, picking her up bridal style in his arms. He waited until her slender arms wrapped around his neck before he stepped into the Floo, the tails of his white dress robes dragging across the dusty hearth.

"Grimmauld Place!" He held Hermione tight, tucking her against his chest as the magic flames rose, swirling around them, obscuring their view of Harry until all they could see was an endless sea of vibrant green.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

As always, thank you ever so much for your reviews, kudos, likes, follows, favorites, etc! They mean the world to me!

Huge thanks for Ravenslight for being the worlds best beta, If you are in the market for a dark Dramione, check out 'Queen of Swords'! It's her latest fic and seriously mind blowing!

Thank you to Disenchantedglow for alphaing for me. She has helped bring out the best of this particular trio.

Until next time!


	21. A Merging of Magics

Warning: This Chapter is NSFW

* * *

Draco's hand brushed up Hermione's spine, feeling each vertebrae slip beneath his finger tips before he pulled her curls from her neck, pushing them to one side. "You looked beautiful tonight,." he purred, easing her body back into his.

Hermione leaned back, her hands sliding over his at her waist, and she guided them around her until his arms held her in a comforting embrace. "Thank you." Her voice was small, uncertain still as she battled with her demons.

His lips pressed against her neck, running the length of her throat and across her shoulder. His right hand splayed across her abdomen, pressing her further back so her body molded to his, while his left hand rose to slide the strap of her dress down over the cap of her shoulder so he could continue to shower her with what he knew she needed more now than ever before.

Love.

Touch.

Reassurance.

They had Flooed home forty minutes earlier, and upon stepping from the hearth, Draco could feel a literal shift in their magics. She was clinging to him—physically and spiritually—calling him to help _fix_ her, but what Hermione didn't realise was that he was needed fixing just as much as she did.

Back at the gala, he had been in a room full of people who were not-so-subtly talking about him, staring, whispering, and wondering what the disgraced heir to the Malfoy name was doing there amongst them. He had never wanted to snatch up a drink so quickly in his life. His mouth still watered thinking about the smell of firewhiskey and the tempting call of champagne bottles bursting open across the room.

When Hermione had spoken of her need to escape—to go home and hide away from the outside world—Draco had been more than willing to accompany her. Because despite his desire to pummel Ronald Weasley to a bloody pulp for even so much as looking at his girlfriend, he didn't trust himself to linger one more minute in that event hall.

He had walked her up to what had become Harry and Hermione's bedroom and held her against his chest as she cried. The hot tears that splashed his collar could have been from relief or perhaps tension that had built over the course of the evening. He couldn't decipher which and didn't dare ask.

Instead, he tightened his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest and whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he stroked her curls, letting her wade through the muck and mire of her emotions, acting as a pillar to cling to during the process.

It wasn't until her tears dried and he heard her tiny, angelic whisper of thanks that Draco pulled back to look down at her. Her make-up was ruined, streaks of mascara racooning her eyes, and her skin was red and splotchy from her tears. But as he stood there, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, he could think of nothing other than how beautiful she looked. So raw, with such visceral emotion that he envied.

For so long, he had hidden his feelings from the world. First, behind his family's pride. Then, behind a mask of apathy he had needed to make it through the behind a sea of sex and alcohol. Even now, he was hesitant to completely drop his walls and show Harry and Hermione the entirety of himself. But each day, he allowed a bit more of himself out for them to see.

The thoughts of his demons subsided as he looked into Hermione's eyes. They were endless pools of caramel that completely captivated him. Draco withdrew his wand and with a quick charm, her make up disappeared, leaving her bare faced. He tossed his wand on the foot of Harry's bed without a second thought. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have dreamt of not having it within arm's reach, but those nightmares had ended nearly ten years ago.

The compulsion to cherish her—to worship her in ways that were so basic and primal even his ancestors long ago knew how to express them—consumed him. He needed to take care of her. To show her how much he loved her, how much he cared. Not just for her benefit, but for his own. He, too, needed the reminder of her lips against his and Harry's touch upon his skin.

Slow be damned. Draco knew the moment he pulled her lips to his, stealing her breath with a kiss, that he was going to throw caution to the wind and not leave this room tonight.

Their triad was going to be complete.

She needed the magic to soothe her.

He needed the magic to ground him.

Harry needed the magic to make him feel whole.

They were three broken souls, wandering the world in search of something that could only be provided by the combined touch of one another.

Hermione leaned back into him further, a shiver running down her spine as Draco ran his lips across the length of the scar on her shoulder, his lips moving over the thin strap that held her gown up. Her eyes fluttered shut as he pressed an open mouthed kiss into the pulse point just beneath her ear, air leaving her lungs in stuttering little breaths.

Her body felt compliant to his touch. She would do whatever he wanted—whatever he needed. She would give herself not only to him, but to Harry as well—body and soul. Her magic compelled her even if her mind questioned the logistics. There would be no return from this madness. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that once she'd had both men, she would never go back to wanting just one.

Draco's hand pulled the other strap of her gown off her shoulder, and the heavy weight of the beaded fabric slipped down her body until it pooled around her feet. The cold night's air washed over her body, hardening her nipples into small peaks as her skin pebbled in response.

"You're so beautiful," Draco whispered into her ear, his breath tickling her baby-fine hairs.

His hand returned to her abdomen, sliding across her skin, relishing the way she felt like the softest velvet, so supple and delicate. He could lose himself in just touching her skin if she'd allow him.

His fingertips ran down her stomach, dipping past her navel until he reached the conservative knickers she wore. His index and middle finger slipped beneath the band, and when she inhaled sharply, he couldn't stop the lecherous grin from falling onto his lips.

Hermione tipped her head back against his shoulder, her body trembling as his fingers sank lower, brushing across her pubic hair before he covered her mound, gently cupping her. He didn't press or intrude but simply ran his fingers over her labia teasingly, stroking the sodden curls that covered her pussy until she let out a small impatient noise.

"Something to say, Granger?" Draco's lips brushed against the shell of her ear before he leaned in and took her lobe in his mouth, nibbling on the pliable flesh until she quivered in his arms.

"I… I…" Hermione stammered, no longer able to form a coherent thought while his wicked fingers moved against her cunt with the promise of something more. That motion, combined with his mouth on her ear, made her unsure she would even remember how to breathe if the act wasn't bloody involuntary. "Please."

Her whine must have been enough, for she felt him part her folds to slip two fingers against her clit in deliciously decadent strokes that made her breath hitch in her throat. Her hips moved in time with his fingers, rocking slowly with his ministrations as she leaned back into the hard expanse of his chest.

Her right arm rose, looping around his neck to keep him close as her left hand dropped to grip his thigh. She could feel the tension tight in his muscle, evidence that he was holding back. "Draco," she whimpered, the heat beginning to coil low in her belly as slowly moving waves of pleasure overtook her. "More… please."

Draco chuckled against her throat, where he had been busy leaving a trail of love bites on her unbroken skin that he knew would excite and infuriate their boyfriend. "Only because you asked so nicely," he purred against her as his fingers slicked themselves on her essence before he slipped them inside her cunt.

He let out a soft noise, barely audible from the back of his throat as he felt her walls clench down upon his fingers, holding them in a vice like grip that made his cock throb in jealousy. Merlin, it had been too long since he'd gotten lost in her heat. He'd dreamed of her cunt for weeks now, imagining the feel of her sliding over his cock ever since that fateful night that spurred this relationship to morph into the triad it had become.

Draco held Hermione in place with one hand anchored to her side, the other beginning a slow and steady rhythm that he rocked her hips to, brushing his length against the cleft of her arse.

Hermione felt her body tense, each muscle group constricting as his fingers brought her close to a ledge she was desperate to throw herself over. And just as she thought she would find her release, her thighs quivering, toes curling, he removed his fingers abruptly. "W- what?"

Before she could process what was going on, her mind still slow from her lust-induced fog, she was carried across the room and set on the edge of Harry's bed.

Hermione watched dumbfounded as Draco made quick work of removing his shirt, only unlatching his cuffs and the first few buttons from his collar before he shucked it over his head. It was when his chest—bisected with the pink iridescent scar from sixth year, the wound from their boyfriend's hand—was exposed that she snapped out of her reverie.

Reaching out, Hermione's hands went to his belt, and she quickly unclasped the buckle before pulling the fine leather from his trousers, tossing it alongside his discarded shirt. Her eyes greedily looked across his skin, taking in the dips and planes of his lean muscles, the indentation where his scars made valleys in his skin, and she wanted nothing more than to take the time to let her tongue become intimately acquainted with every centimetre of him.

Their first time together had not allowed for the slow worship his body deserved, and she wanted more than ever to rectify that, but the ache between her thighs was threatening to overtake all reason.

When her hands went to his button, thumbs ready to pop it through the hole, his hands were suddenly on her, stilling her movements.

"Lie back, Hermione."

Her heart skipped a beat at his voice. Low and gravely, his need for her was already so evident in his voice. She dragged her eyes up over the expanse of his body to look into his, and her breath was stolen away with a sharp inhale at what she saw. Instead of molten silver, a pair of steely black eyes bore down upon her, his pupils blown so wide they nearly hid his irises.

"But—"

"I said _lie back_."

Hermione nodded, gulping as she removed her hands from his trousers, and she reclined on the bed, her curls spreading out around her like a halo.

Draco dragged his eyes down her body, hungrily studying her as his mind swirled with all the ways he was doing to debauch her. He had waited so bloody long for this, but he wasn't ready to give in just yet. No, not when they still were missing one person from this equation.

His tongue ran across his lips slowly when his eyes fell upon the patch of dark curls that sat at the apex of her thighs. The American women—and men—he'd been with in recent years kept themselves bare, and while there was a slight appeal to their grooming habits, seeing her neatly trimmed patch made a primal part of his soul thrum in appreciation. She was all woman and bared for him, waiting for him to consume her body and soul.

"Hermione," he began, taking half a step forward until his feet brushed against the comforter that hung to the floor, "I want nothing more than to take you again and again. To make you scream my name until your throat is raw and your body is boneless."

He watched her breath labor, the rise and fall of her chest drawing his eyes to the perfectly round breasts that swayed slightly under the ministrations from her lungs. A slow smile spread across his lips, knowing his words alone were the cause of this wave of desire that flared to life inside her. "But I won't… not yet."

Sinking to his knees in front of the bed, Draco's hands fell to her knees. "But do not mistake my delay in filling you with my cock for reluctance," he whispered as his hands spread her thighs wide, exposing her cunt to him with the simple motion.

Hermione wasn't sure she could take much more; his words, the gentle caress of his hands, all of it was driving her mad. She was certain if he didn't do something now, she was going to spontaneously combust. As he guided her thighs apart, she bent her leg at the knee and let her heels rest against the edge of the bed, tilting her pelvis up just enough that she knew he could see her entirely.

"Make no mistake, Hermione. I will ruin you tonight, but I will not do it alone…"

Hermione stomach twisted in anticipation, her fingers flexing on the flat of her stomach at his promise.

She wasn't going to just have Draco tonight.

She was going to have _both_ of her lovers.

She was going to have her _triad._

Biting her bottom lip, she stared at the ceiling unseeing, her vision blinded by fantasies that played within her mind, the same ones that had plagued her dreams for months now. But just as she allowed herself to get lost in the reverie, the sudden heat from a wet tongue on her pussy pulled her back down to earth.

"Oh!" Her right hand rose, touching the top of Draco's head as he swept his tongue through her folds in a slow, languorous lap.

"Mmmm." He hummed, his breath tickling her thighs as he spoke. "Just as sweet as I envisioned."

His mouth descended on her again, starting from her entrance, probing lightly at her before he worked his way up to her clit. The tip of his tongue swirled around the hardened bud, flicking at it expertly before he began the process all over again.

His name was the only word on her lips as she keened, his tongue delivering decadent strokes and flicks until she felt as if her entire world didn't matter anymore. Anything beyond what he was doing felt trivial. The coil of fire in her belly tightened like a taut piano string, only seconds away from snapping in two and bringing her towards the inevitable goal of bliss.

"Draco." Harry's cut across the room, beckoning her to lift her head off the mattress to look towards the door. Her eyes were half lidded from lust, her lips swollen from how she'd chewed on them while trying to contain her throaty moans from rising to breathy screams.

Hermione gasped at what she saw. Harry stood in the doorway, his hair messier than usual, lip swollen and cut, and outfit disheveled. Even though evidence of a fight was written plainly across his face, it was his eyes that stole her breath: smouldering and consumed by lust. Harry looked like a man who had wandered the desert for kilometers only to stumble upon a glittering oasis.

Draco lifted his head, his mouth glistening, and smirk sharp enough to hurt tugging at the corner of his mouth as her eyed their boyfriend. "So glad you could join us," he purred, his hands still firmly planted on Hermione's thighs, keeping her spread open. "Would you like a taste, Potter? She's positively divine."

Temporarily dumbfounded by the erotic sight of Draco between her thighs, Hermione watched Harry snap out of his reverie, his eyes leaving hers and running down the length of her body to where Draco kneeled between her parted legs. His Adam's apple ran the column of his throat, bobbing in such an enticing manner that were Draco not holding open her thighs, Hermione would rub them together to ease the pulsing ache his look caused.

"Tell him, Granger." Draco turned his eyes on her, the dim light in the room causing the silver lining around his eyes to sparkle deviously at her, beckoning her to join him in his naughty game. "Tell Harry how much you want him to taste you."

Hermione let out a shaky breath, her mouth instantly running dry as thoughts of both her men laying claim to her body swirled behind her eyes. Fantasies she had dreamed of since they all resided in the cottage together. The same fantasies that plagued her conscious thoughts since the moment they decided to all date one another. And now here she lay, naked on the bed, seconds away from it finally happening if she could just open her mouth.

"Granger." Draco's silken voice pulled her attention between her legs, and she felt his fingertips brush down her right thigh towards her pussy. She could feel her body involuntarily clench at his gentle touch, praying he would move it just a little lower.

"Y-yes?"

"Be a good girl and tell Harry," Draco purred, dropping his head to press a kiss on her mound, just above her slit. "I know he wants to hear you say it."

Hermione shivered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and she looked back at the door where Harry stood frozen, watching them like a predator would its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. Even before the words left her lips, a slow crimson blush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her chest, colouring the tops of her breasts in a pink glow. "Harry, I… I want you to taste me."

Harry's lips parted, and a barely audible groan reached her ears from across the room. Her heart skipped a beat. She could feel his magic pulse towards her, weaving into her lungs with each laboured breath she stole, manifesting in her body just as Draco's had done since the moment they had stepped into Grimmauld Place that night.

She felt whole.

She felt alive.

She felt loved.

The feeling was intoxicating, better than any high she'd ever experienced before. Nicotine and Dragon's Breath held no candle to the combination of her lovers' magics entering her. Her pulse quickened, eyes dilating as the endorphins coursed through her body, causing her thighs to tremble under Draco's fingers.

"Good girl." Draco dropped his fingers, slowly running them over her labia, coating his fingers in her essence before he lined them up at her core. In one fluid motion, he slipped them inside her once again.

Her hips canted to meet his hand's thrusts, and Hermione fell back on the bed, no longer able to keep herself lifted onto her elbows as waves of pleasure took hold again.

"I'm so proud of you, Granger," Draco praised between her parted thighs, stroking a kink inside her she wasn't even aware existed until that very moment. "Telling Potter what you want. I think you deserve a reward. What do you think, Potter?"

"I'd say she does," Harry responded in kind, moving across the room towards them with a loose hipped swagger that made Hermione's stomach clench in anticipation of his approach. He pulled his bow tie loose, letting it drape over his shoulders as he made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, tugging it from his trousers before he slipped it from his body with a quick roll of his shoulders.

As Harry approached the edge of the bed, he toed off his loafers and peeled off his socks, tucking them in his shoes. His hand hit the mattress, the bed sinking under his weight as he crawled beside Hermione, his eyes ablaze as he dragged them over her body.

Draco set the pace, alternating between fast and hard, slow and delicious. Her body simply couldn't keep up. Every time she felt like she was seconds away from cumming, he changed speeds, leaving her breathless and wanting. Her hand reached for Harry, fingers curling into his belt, and she pulled him closer until his knees pressed against her ribs. "Kiss me… please." She whimpered.

Draco chuckled, sending puffs of hot air across her sex that made her hips tremble.

Harry glanced down to Draco, looking for gods only knew what. She could see the blond nod out of the corner of her eye, as if granting permission for Harry to do what she asked. A second later, Harry was leaning down, his chest hair rubbing against her nipples, hardening them into peaks as his lips found hers.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's shoulders, nails scratching lightly on his back as she clung to him, her tongue sliding against his as he swallowed up her moans greedily.

Draco, not wanting to be outdone, gave into her, his mouth returning to her cunt, drawing his tongue across her clit as his fingers worked in a now steady rhythm.

And before she could process what was going on, the combined sensations of Harry's heartbeat against hers, his touch on her bared skin, his lips firm on hers, and Draco's mouth and fingers against her cunt finally set her over the edge.

There were no bursts of white or blinding heat. Instead it was as if, in that moment, the entire world ceased to exist.

Hermione's body arched off the bed, pressing into Harry's as her hips chased Draco's fingers, desperate to make the feeling last. Her mouth slipped from Harry's, and she cried out into the room, a moan so loud she was sure the ancient silencing charms put on the home wouldn't have held it.

Her magic poured from her body, bursting out from her and filling the room until the heady scent of her arousal and magical aura covered the floral scent charm Harry had activated earlier in the day.

Harry pressed lazy kisses down her throat, working over the long scar on her shoulder before he lowered his mouth over one breast. His mouth felt like fire, burning hot and searing her skin as he lavished the hardened peak with attention, nibbling and sucking on her nipple until she trembled from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Her legs fell to the bed, twitching with involuntary spasms as Draco removed his fingers and she felt him push himself up from the floor, using her thighs as leverage to help him. "Come here, Potter," he commanded, beckoning the raven-haired wizard to him.

Despite her exhaustion, Hermione tipped her head up from the mattress, watching as Harry rose from his attention to her breasts and moved down to Draco.

As soon as Harry approached, Draco lifted his hand, sliding the two fingers that had been in her quim into Harry's mouth without permission.

Harry responded accordingly, moaning as he wrapped his lips around the two fingers, sucking hungrily on the soaked digits, his tongue swirling between and around them until every last drop of Hermione was cleaned from them. His hands went to Draco's waist, fingers curling into the wizard's belt loops, and he tugged him closer until their hips met.

She couldn't look away, her lips parting, eyes widening as she watched Draco remove his fingers from Harry's mouth and pull him into a bruising kiss, using his grip on Harry's hair to direct the wizard how he wanted. A new wave of need washed over her, causing her quim to slick with a new gush of liquid, spurred on by the show she watched.

Draco broke the kiss, pulling Harry's head back until his throat was bared to him, and Draco let out a low growl, turning his eyes on Hermione, watching the way her breath caught in her throat with his single glance. "On your knees, Hermione," Draco instructed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk sharp enough to cut before he looked back to Harry, who was still in his grip, waiting to be molded into the perfect form for his lover. "I want to see you ride Harry's cock… I want to watch you both cum."

"Fuck." The hiss of a curse left Harry's throat, causing Draco to chuckle in response before the blond wizard stole one last kiss from his lover. Releasing him, Draco pushed Harry to the bed beside Hermione before he crawled between the wizard's thighs. His hands expertly unfastened Harry's belt, not bothering to remove it from the belt loops before he tugged down Harry's trousers and boxers in the same go, revealing his thick cock.

Hermione whimpered as it came into view, the head already red and weeping with need. Merlin, how they had managed to go this long waiting to do this was a bloody miracle, because now that she'd had even the smallest taste of what it would be like for all three of them to be together as one, she wasn't sure she could ever go back.

Licking her lips, Hermione pushed to a sitting position, waiting for Draco to fully remove Harry's trousers from his legs before she rose up on her knees and swung her leg over Harry's middle. His hands found her waist, gripping her hips tightly as she settled down on his lower abdomen, her pussy dripping across his abs as she looked down at him.

Harry's eyes were unfocused, glassy with need as he looked up at her, his glasses already askew. Leaning forward, Hermione pressed her lips against his for a quick snog, her tongue sliding against his, beckoning it to come play as she slid her lower body down until his cock slotted between her folds.

Her hips rocked, coating him completely, earning little primal noises of pleasure from her raven-haired lover that fueled the inferno that raged inside her. Long gone were the butterflies that Harry and Draco gave her with their wickedly decident touch. Their wings had been burned the moment Draco stripped her bare.

Draco's hand swept down her spine before running across her lower back, and with a tug, he lifted her up just enough for Harry's cock to press at her entrance, slick and ready from her juices. With a gentle pressure from both her lovers' hands, she sunk down slowly, taking every bit of Harry's cock until he filled her completely.

Hermione broke their kiss, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she pushed against his chest, sitting up to have him fully seated inside her. She felt so full, her body stretching to accommodate his girth. Her right hand rose, pushing her fallen curls from her face as she began a slow circle with her hips, watching Harry's eyelids flutter under the pressure of her walls clenching him.

"That's it," Draco encouraged from behind, his hands leaving her skin and the sound of his zip being lowered pulling her attention away from watching the bliss spread across Harry's face with each rise and fall of her hips. She turned her head, her eyes hungrily running down Draco's body to his waist, watching as he dropped his trousers and boxer briefs. He was already fisting his cock, stroking himself in time with the movement of her hips.

Unable to prevent it, a low whine left her throat, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she took in the way he handled himself, roughly thrusting in his fist. The low rumble of his laughter pulled her attention back up to his eyes, and she keened. Where Harry was burly, muscled, and chiseled, Draco was lean, his chest free of hair, his skin pale and pink. He was the exact opposite of the wizard between her legs, yet both were made specifically for her.

"Eager, aren't we?" Draco chided as he crawled his way across the bed, nipping at her shoulder as he moved up Harry's side. "Keep going, Granger. You look so bloody perfect riding his cock. I can't wait to watch you cum on him."

Encouraged by his words, Hermione's pace increased. Her hands used Harry's chest as leverage, anchoring herself to him as she slammed herself down on his cock until stars felt like they burst behind her eyelids each time he was fully sheathed inside her.

Draco watched his partners with a heated gaze, stroking his cock until Hermione could see little dribbles of cum leaking across the reddened head. The blond wizard, clearly spurred by the show that was being put on for his benefit, moved until he kneeled beside Harry's head. One hand gripped the base of his own cock as the other sunk into his boyfriend's hair, pulling Harry's head to the side and guiding him closer until Draco could paint the other wizard's lips with his precum, slapping his mouth lightly with the hardened tip of his penis until Harry opened wide. Hermione didn't need any encouragement—her body was already humming for release—but as she watched Draco sink himself into Harry's mouth, she was almost positive she was going to die from stimulus overload. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat and she felt her pussy constrict tightly around Harry's cock.

Harry's groans were muffled by Draco's thick length, but judging by the way his cheeks hollowed and his eyes closed tightly, it was evident he was only moments away from cumming.

Draco's arse flexed with each thrust into Harry's mouth, pushing himself deeper and deeper until the patch of golden hair at the base of his cock brushed the wizard's nose. "So good, Potter. So fucking good." Draco moaned, praising the man as he fucked his mouth before turning his attention to Hermione, who had slowed to watch them.

"Do you like this?" Draco questioned, his thumb sliding across Harry's stubbled jaw. "Watching me fuck his mouth?"

Hermione nodded, her words failing her.

"Such a dirty girl, aren't you, Granger?" Draco questioned, still lazily fucking their lover's throat. When Hermione only moaned in response, Draco reached out with his free hand, pinching her nipple. "Say it."

"I- I'm a dirty girl." She breathed quickly, her back arching towards his fingers.

Harry's muffled moans grew louder at her words, his hands on her hips tightening until she was sure there would be bruises the next morning, but as he began to rock into her body from beneath her, she couldn't find it in herself to care about her body showing evidence of the coupling.

"You like watching your boyfriends suck each other's cocks?" Draco purred.

"Y- yes." She was so close; she could feel her body tense again, preparing for another release. Her fingers curled against Harry's chest, leaving small red lines across his tanned skin.

"You hear that, Potter? Our girl loves watching us fuck. Maybe next time I'll show her what you look like when you cum on my cock."

Hermione's entire body trembled, her eyes fluttered shut, and her body forgot how to move. Her elbows baulked at the tension, threatening to send her crashing down on Harry's chest. She could barely make out the moans over the sound of the blood rushing to her ears, but suddenly she felt arms wrap behind her, and a slick cock slot against the cleft of her ass.

"Thank her, Potter. Thank her for riding your cock. Tell her how good she's making you feel." Draco instructed as he eased Hermione back against his chest, one arm looped around her waist, holding her up while his other slipped further around to brush against where Harry's cock disappeared inside her.

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry complied, his voice low and gravelly as he held her hips up, snapping his own against hers in short shallow thrusts. "Thank you for riding me… you're so bloody good. So bloody perfect."

Hermione's arms rose, looping around Draco's shoulders, her hands sliding into his hair, holding onto him as Harry brought her closer with each thrust. And just when she wasn't sure she could take anymore, Draco's fingers pressed against her clit, rubbing quick, hard circles across the hardened bud, sending her barreling over the cliff's edge she'd been teetering on.

Her pussy spasmed around Harry's cock, pulling him with her as she fell. A scream ripped from her throat, as both of their magics seemed to battle one another for space within Harry's bedroom as if they were corporeal. She could feel his cock pulse inside her, his seed spilling deep as he held her tightly against him, her name simultaneously spilling from his lips.

She wasn't even down from the height of her climax, her body still quivering, her pussy still spasming around Harry's cock when Draco spun her around. Strong arms picked her up from Harry's chest, pulling his cock from within her, and she heard the wet smack of it hitting his abdomen before she was laid back across Harry's chest.

"Hold her," Draco instructed, his hands hooking beneath her knees, spreading her wide.

Harry's arms wrapped around her middle, his hands splaying across her skin. She could feel his heartbeat tattooing her shoulder in an unsteady beat while his hot breath washed across her shoulder and neck.

Her brain struggled to keep up with what was happening, and just as she opened her mouth to ask what was going on, Draco was in her.

His cock filled her, replacing what she had lost only seconds earlier, and he wasted no time setting a bruising pace. His hips snapped against her thighs, the sharp bones digging into her flesh with each grind of his pelvis.

Hermione clung to Harry's arm, her nails piercing his skin as her moans grew louder and louder until her own voice was barely recognizable.

Harry's magic was so deeply interwoven in her, but each thrust from Draco drove his own magic deeper into her until she wasn't certain she had any space left within. Her body quivered under the pressure, her pussy fluttering around his manhood, encouraging him along.

"So beautiful," Harry whispered in her ear as tears leaked down her cheeks, her emotions running unchecked. She couldn't take it, the pleasure, the pain. The feeling of being so complete. It was so foreign to feel whole; she hadn't been sure it was even possible until that very moment. "You're perfect, 'Mione. So perfect for us."

Draco's hand released her leg after he draped it over his shoulder, the angle causing his hips to shift and steal her breath. His hand now free, he dropped it between their bodies where he strummed at her clit. Hermione's hips shivered as she tried to avoid his touch on the oversensitive bud, but his fingers followed her movements.

"Cum for me, Granger."

"I- I can't," she cried, tears leaking in a steady stream over her temples, splashing across Harry's chest.

"You c _an_ ," he growled, bottoming out inside her with a rough grind that made her back arch in response. "Relax… give in."

Hermione shook her head, her legs trembling as she fought herself on the impending climax that was surely going to be her undoing.

Harry's lips brushed over the side of her face, kissing away the tears as his arms tightened around her, applying much-needed pressure. "So beautiful,and perfect. You're ours. Forever."

The heady combination proved to be too much, sending her careening over the final cliff. Every muscle in her body grew tense, her toes curling, her hands scrambling for purchase on Harry's arms as she cried out into the bedroom. Draco's name was the only intelligible word on her lips as her orgasm wracked through her body, pulling him with her into a final oblivion.

Draco's body poured into her with each pulse of his cock, his seed combining with Harry's inside her body, just as their two magics melded with her own, creating a force so powerful she was sure her soul could not contain it.

Around them, the room shook. Every object in Harry's bedroom clattered and vibrated, the mirror over his mantle fracturing and the wallpaper curling as the force of their combined magic finally converged.

Triads were ancient and powerful forces. A magic so strong that it only happened every few generations, and as she lay in the afterglow of their coupling, she could finally understand why.

Despite feeling boneless and exhausted, the magic that flowed between them lit a new fire in her soul. One she had never felt before. One that made her feel like she could conquer the world if needed, with her only allies being the two men she was currently sandwiched between.

Draco withdrew his softening cock from her body, and a dull ache of emptiness flashed through her body as he fell onto the mattress. His arm looped around her middle, easing her onto the bed between him and Harry, and he began to pepper breathless kisses across her sweaty brow, his hand laying flat across her abdomen.

"Charm?" He breathed, his nose nuzzling her temple.

Hermione shook her head, right hand dropping to find Harry's, and she curled their fingers together, slowly drawing his hand up until she could lock them over her heart. "Potion."

Harry smiled, rolling onto his side as he leaned into her, an arm sliding beneath the pillow, and he stretched until his fingertips brushed through Draco's sweat slicked hair. "Do you want pain potions?" he questioned.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, her heart blossoming at the thoughtfulness of each of her wizards. She wasn't sure she would ever grow accustomed to being taken care of after being on her own for so long, but she cherished the idea of this aftercare becoming a normal part of her life. "I'm fine. I feel…."

"Amazing?" Draco breathed.

"Fucking brilliant?" Harry added.

"Whole," Hermione answered, looking sleepily between the two wizards who flanked her sides, effectively trapping her, but rather than feeling smothered, she felt cared for. They provided the physical touch and words of affirmation she'd longed to hear for what felt like decades.

A tingle of magic pulsed in the very centre of her chest, radiating a glow across her skin that warmed her in ways she never thought physically possible. It was akin to how she felt so many years ago in that drafty castle in the Highlands, back when the world was simple, and learning new magic filled her days. Except now, as she lay between the two wizards who filled her every waking thought— _her_ wizards—she held no fear of losing this feeling like she used to.

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would never leave her.

She wasn't broken.

She wasn't a mistake.

She was whole.

She was complete.

She was fixed.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Well, I hope it was worth the wait!

Huge massive thank you to Disenchantedglow and Ravenslight for helping me work this chapter out. There are a lot of moving parts (no pun intended) with triad sex. If you haven't already, check out Ravenslight's Queen of Swords. It's freaking fantastic and literally has me chomping at the bit for more!

Come play with me on tumblr ms-merlinblack.

Until next time. xx


	22. Dating Two

Warning: NSFW

* * *

Morning light streamed through the windows, splashing across Hermione's skin and wrapping her in summer rays that only promised to warm her skin for a few more weeks. With August's end quickly approaching, the sun hung low until mid-morning, signaling the end of the summer and the impending fall.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered against the morning light, but she didn't crack them open just yet. Not when she couldn't discern if what happened between Harry, Draco, and herself last night was real or just a fantasy she'd dreamed. It all felt so real, the memories of being wrapped in her boyfriends' embrace, the feeling of their magics mingling in her soul. Merlin smite her if that wasn't the best sex she'd ever had in her entire life.

Keeping her eyes closed, letting the flashes of last night guide her through the half-sleep haze of the morning, Hermione rolled onto her back and a blossom of ache flared to life between her thighs. Her muscles cried out, and soreness radiated so fiercely from her core she could not misinterpreted what it meant.

A hand moved across her abdomen, and at her left side she felt the press of a hard body against her bare skin. "Morning." The sleepy baritone of her boyfriend purred into her ear, his breath ghosting across her skin.

Cracking open one eye, she turned towards the voice, finding a very naked Harry at her side, his eyes still closed, his hair an absolute wreck and; it hung across his forehead in a similar manner to how he'd looked post Quidditch match: coiffed with a carefree sort of appeal that instantly made her heart flutter. "Morning," she returned, her voice barely a whisper.

"Sleep well?" Harry's arm wound around her middle further, his fingers sinking into her skin and with a slow pull, he rolled her onto her side so their bodies were flush against one another. Her abdominal muscles tightened, and she felt the brush of his desire prod lightly against her hip.

Hermione nodded, her lips pressing together to suppress a shaky exhale that might give away the blossom of lust that she felt bloom to life in her core. Despite the ache between her thighs, Harry's magic called to her, beckoning her to wrap her legs around his waist and lose herself in the same bliss that spoke to her soul like a siren's song mere hours ago.

His fingertips ghosted across her skin in slow, enticing strokes that flamed the embers from last night into a slow burn. "You okay?" Harry questioned, his brow knitting as he looked at her, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as concern washed over his face.

Harry had never been good at hiding his emotions, and even all these years later he was rubbish at it, which was one of the many reasons Hermione fell for him. She could take everything about him at face value. There was no deciphering what he might have meant or examining his words for a hidden meaning.

"A little sore," she admitted sheepishly, a soft crimson colouring her cheeks as she let her eyes drop to where their bodies pressed together.

"Oh…." His voice trailed off, the puff of air rustling the baby curls at her hairline, and she felt his lips press against her forehead sweetly. "We don't have to… you know that, right? I mean, not that I'd oppose. It just… has a mind of its own," he explained, a nervous lilt to his whisper as he tried to explain away his obvious desire pressing against her hip.

"No!" Hermione rushed out, head snapping back up to look at him, her eyes widened infinitivally.

"No?"

"No. I want to… again," Hermione insisted, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Gods, how badly she wanted to. Even with the twinge of pain at her core, the memory of the rapture she had experienced and the promise of more sent chills down her spine. She could feel a rush of heat fill her body, settling at the apex of her thighs.

A grin spread across Harry's face, his ability to suppress it clearly vanishing. Mischief twinkled in his eyes, swirling the emerald irises in a way she was certain she would never tire of. His eyes flickered over the top of her head to what she could only assume was the other third of their relationship before he looked down at her, the gears within his mind whirling at a rapid speed.

Without a single word, he gently rolled Hermione onto her back, his body hovering over hers. Instinctually, her legs bent at the knee, and she framed his hips with hers. His cock bounced heavy against her abdomen, leaving a slow trail of its essence across her skin, making her pussy clench in need.

"Don't be quiet," Harry instructed.

Hermione's brow knit, her heart's tempo already starting to increase. "W-what?" she stammered, not quite sure she'd heard him right, but before she could process what he'd said, Harry was already moving down her body, his lips dragging across her skin in a delightfully wicked manner.

He nipped, licked, and kissed a trail down the centre of her chest in a line, only deviating to lap at her nipples until she keened, her breathy little moans filling the hair. Her hands tangled within the sheets, her grip tight on the soft cotton as she tried to remain considerate of the wizard sleeping next to her.

Hermione rolled her head to the side, brown eyes searching across the mattress to her sleeping beau, and she clamped down on her bottom lip, teeth nearly piercing the supple flesh as she felt Harry wiggle beneath the covers, his mouth peppering her abdomen with soft kisses. When his tongue dipped into her navel, she inhaled sharply, her left hand dropping instinctively underneath the bedding, and she carded her fingers through his untidy hair.

"I don't hear you," Harry teased as he draped her legs over his shoulders, his hands positioning her legs wide open before he parted her labia.

"B-but Draco…" Hermione whimpered, keeping her voice soft despite the small squeak to her words. She could feel Harry's breath ghost across her inner thighs, caressing the junction of her thigh and hip. Her eyes drifted closed when she felt his nose nuzzle softly against her mound, the tip brushing just lightly enough over her clit for her to inhale sharply in response.

"Draco will want nothing more—" Harry began, his lips brushing across her folds as he lowered his head, millimeters away from her dripping core. "—than to wake up to you coming," he assured her before the flat of his tongue swept across her clitoral hood, begging the little bundle of nerves to come out and play.

Her fingers tightened in his hair at the first swipe of his tongue, nails scratching lightly across his scalp as the fire he ignited began to climb to a consuming inferno. She could feel her magic call to him, enticing his to come twist and wind together in the beautiful dance only their souls knew. Each flick and prod of his tongue on her cunt felt transcendent. The ache in her thigh muscles seemed to fade—or perhaps it was the slow drudging waves of pleasure that began to build up that overwhelmed her senses. Whatever the case may be, Hermione was suddenly more keenly aware than ever before how desperately her body craved having him inside her once more.

Her back arched off the mattress, and the quiet whimpers of pleasure turned to throaty moans that were nearly unrecognizable to her own ear. She held Harry in place, guiding his head with a fist in his hair as she ground herself against his face, desperately seeking to ease the need for friction.

"Started without me?"

Hermione turned towards the sleepy voice of her blond wizard, brown eyes half-lidded and glassy as she looked at him. Draco had rolled on his side, watching his lovers for Merlin knows how long. The sheets pooled around his waist, and he was already fisting his cock with lazy tugs that made her mouth water in need for him.

"Mmmmmm," Harry answered unintelligibly from beneath the sheets before the wizard reached up and pulled them over his shoulders. His mouth never left Hermione's cunt, his tongue alternating between licking her from core to clit and burrowing inside her to drink down the nectar that flowed steadily from her.

Draco groaned, his pupils visibly dilating with need as he looked down at Harry. "Merlin, Potter," Draco growled, edging his way closer until his body was against Hermione's side, his cock at her hip. "You look fucking delectable licking her cunt."

She could feel Harry smile against her pussy, his teeth nipping lightly at her clit, causing her hips to thrust in his face as the pain-pleasure from the love bite pulsed through her body. "Please," Hermione pleaded for more. She needed him—she needed them both. Her magic called out for Draco's to join their dance, the winding tendrils stroking against his like a purring cat.

"Please what?" Draco's voice was in her ear, his hand still wrapped around his cock, still tugging slowly. "Tell us what you need, love."

Hermione's thigh trembled, her right hand moving from the top of Harry's head and she cupped Draco's cheek, turning his attention to her and she pulled him down until their lips met in a feverish crash. Her tongue demanded entrance to his mouth, not waiting for an invitation, she let his morning breath mingle with her own as their tongues brushed against one another.

Harry hummed in approval, his lips wrapped around her clitoris, and she nearly came right there, her body wound so tightly it was like tip toeing on a piano string. She was so close, ready to launch herself off the razor thin wire and jump into the arms of the pleasure that awaited her, but something wasn't allowing her to tip over the edge.

She could feel her pussy contracting in need, her body begging to be filled by one—or both—of her lovers.

Draco's teeth gnashed against her lip, pulling at her bottom lip until she hissed in pleasure, her hips rocking crudely against Harry's face. "Tell me what you need," he commanded, his mouth still on hers, their lips gliding across one another.

Hermione shivered. How could she even begin to articulate what she needed when she was so bloody close?! Her mind felt like mush, and she wasn't sure she even had the ability to talk anymore, but when the blond wizard twisted her nipple in warning, the jolt of pain seemed to kick start her tongue. "Harry's cock!"

Draco's face split into a lecherous smile, silver eyes gleaming with a carnality that sent another gush of liquid leaking from her cunt onto Harry's eager tongue. "You hear that, Potter?" Turning his attention to the raven-haired wizard between her thighs, Draco let go of his own cock and reached out, fisting Harry's hair and pulling his head up from Hermione's cunt. "Granger wants you to fuck her."

Harry's neck arched back, pushing his Adam's apple out as he leaned to into Draco's tug. His lips and chin glistened in the morning light. Draco seemed to notice too, for one moment he was craning Harry's head back, and the next he was on the wizard, his mouth crashing against his in a brutal kiss.

Hermione watched with wide eyes as Draco's tongue slithered into Harry's mouth, practically fucking him with the muscle before ending the kiss to lap her juices from his chin.

Harry whimpered, his hands still on her thighs curling tightly as if trying to use her as an anchor to keep him from floating away.

"Do you want to fuck her?" Draco purred, his nose brushing against Harry's as he spoke, slowly easing back on the bed to lay beside Hermione, tugging Harry with him until the wizard was hovering over the two of them.

"Yes." Emerald eyes flickered over to her, his lips parted as he panted. Hermione could see the tension in his frame, every muscle taunt and stiff with an overwhelming need.

Draco hummed in approval, his hand releasing Harry's hair. His hand moved down the wizard's body, canvassing across his chest until he reached Harry's nipples. His fingers slipped the hardening bud between his index and middle fingers knuckles and he pinched at the bud just hard enough to elicit a gasp from his boyfriend. "And what do _you_ need?" Draco questioned, his tongue pressing into the tip of his canine tooth.

"You." Harry's reply came back quickly, no need for correction. Even if Hermione had not known of their shared past, it was obvious now that he'd played this little game with Draco before. He'd long mastered the art of telling his dominant lover exactly what he needed. "I need you to fuck me," Harry breathed.

Hermione let out an involuntary whimper at the words, her eyes flashing with heat. Sweet Merlin, she wasn't going to make it through the morning if they _did that._ She was certain she was already on her way to spontaneously combusting, but surely that would do her in.

Draco chuckled, his attention momentarily turned back to the witch beside him, and he reached out. Clasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tipped her head back on the pillow until he could look her directly in the eye. "Does that turn you on, Granger?"

Her mouth went instantly dry, aiding in her inability to utter a single word. Instead, she laid silently, staring up at the far too handsome boyfriend of hers while she clung to the other who hovered over her. Her fingernails bit lightly on Harry's shoulders as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.

"It does… I can see you quiver just thinking about it," Draco chuckled before leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Would you like that? To have Potter's thick cock buried in your exquisite pussy while I bugger him? Would you cum all over him like a good girl?"

Hermione whimpered, her hold tightening on Harry's shoulders, and she nodded quickly.

"On your side then," he instructed, pulling back from her with a smirk sharp enough to cut. Pushing up on his knees, Draco motioned for Harry to fall onto the mattress beside her before he began to move.

Hermione could feel her heart thunder wildly in anticipation, watching in awe as the blond became a conductor of sorts, guiding, lifting and positioning them both until she could feel Harry's cock nudge at her entrance. He'd laid her on her side, reclining back against Harry's front, her body just slightly higher than his so their bodies rest against each other. Harry's hand rested low on her abdomen, her leg draped over his forearm, holding her wide open for his pleasure.

Draco licked his lips, giving Harry a small nod of approval before the raven-haired wizard sunk into her. Inch by excruciating inch, he filled her slowly with gentle thrusts that did nothing to sedate the desire that flared to life inside her.

"Harry," Hermione whimpered, her arse desperately pushing back against him to encourage him to fill her quicker.

Harry's fingers on her stomach flexed lightly in reaction to her need, and he kissed her shoulders, her name whispered into the room as he sunk into her heat until he was completely sheathed.

The delicious stretch she'd felt the night before returned. Her body accommodated his thick cock in a way that made her wonder if it was possible they were all three made specifically for one another.

"So… fucking tight," Harry whispered in her ear as he pulled back until his cock was nearly dislodged from her cunt before he sank back in.

From this angle, he felt massive, filling her in places she wasn't even aware he could reach. Hermione clawed at the sheets, pulling them from the mattress in her attempt to find purchase as Harry set a slow and steady rhythm with his hips.

Draco moved silently, watching Harry fuck their girlfriend with a heated gaze until he disappeared from her line of site behind the raven-haired wizard. She couldn't hear what happened behind her, but one moment Harry was keeping the rhythm he'd set, and the next he'd suddenly thrust into her, filling her completely as he gutturally moaned."Draco!"

Daring to lift her head from the pillow, Hermione craned to look over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of both her wizards, faces contorted in pleasure and cheeks flushed. She nearly came undone from that image alone. Her eyes ran down Harry's body, widening when she saw how Draco parodied the way Harry held her body open, providing ample room for his cock to fill their boyfriend.

"Oh fuck," Hermione whimpered, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she watched Draco pull his hips back, causing Harry's to mirror his movement before they sunk in together. Like a lewd form of synchronized swimming, Draco lead the charge, setting a slow pace for Harry to follow as he fucked him.

They moved in unison, the slow lazy thrusts reaching depths inside her she wasn't aware had been there. Harry's moan fueled her own need, stoking the fire inside her that pushed her closer to the blissful oblivion of an orgasm.

"So fucking good, Harry," Draco praised, his voice thick and syrupy with a need that set a rush of slick to her cunt, soaking Harry's cock. "You take my cock so well."

Hermione could feel Harry tremble behind her in response, his thigh quivering each time he sunk into her body. His grip tightened on her, fingertips bound to leave bruises on her delicate skin. She knew he was close—very close based on the shallow breaths he sucked in, but she still needed something _more_ to drive her there.

As if on queue, Draco's hand moved from Harry's hip and over her body, his arm stretching until he could brush his fingers through her sodden folds, touching and caressing the spot where Harry's cock filled her cunt.

Hermione gasped, her toes curling at the first brush of the pads of Draco's fingers against her clit, and by the time he found a steady rhythm of circling the hardened bud, her moans were the only sound that filled the room. Loud and rasping, she felt her throat inflame in protest, but she seemed to be physically incapable of stopping herself from making the noise.

Their names were on her lips, begging both of them to help her find her release, and when it finally hit her, she felt like the entire world stopped spinning. Her breath escaped her in a scream, her fingernails ripped holes in the sheets as she rode the drudging waves of her orgasm that confused her. Her pussy clenched tightly around Harry in slow methodical pulses, pulling him along with her into the bliss. She could feel his cock spasm as he spilled his seed deep inside her, his hips rutting in shallow thrusts as he bit onto her shoulder blade to prevent himself from crying out as he came.

Draco was the last to fall, focusing solely on dragging out the pleasure for both Harry and Hermione. He manipulated her clit and slowed his thrusts inside Harry to a careful grind before pulling out to finish on the wizard's back with a primal groan that sent a thrill of desire pulsing through her despite having just came.

One by one, the trio rolled onto their backs, chests moving in a heavy rise and fall in futile attempts to catch their breath.

Hermione reached out and laid a single hand on Harry's stomach and the other found Draco's hand. She laced their fingers together, allowing her eyes to drift shut as a slow grin spread across her lips. The warmth of their combined magic wrapped its arms around her, enveloping her body and soul in a warm embrace that ebbed away at the darkness inside her each day.

It wasn't until Draco finally moved that she allowed herself to lift her head from the pillow. Half lidded eyes followed him across the room where he opened Harry's bedroom window and picked up the morning edition of the Daily Prophet that sat on the owl perch outside.

Unfurling the paper, the naked wizard was already halfway across the room when he came to a sudden stop. His hand curled tightly around the periodical, wrinkling the headlines before he snapped the paper down, silver eyes wide. "Harry," Draco said slowly, pausing until the raven-haired wizard lifted his head off the mattress with a sleepy grunt. "While I am all for you beating the shit out of the Weasel, but did you have to bloody do it in the middle of the ballroom?"

Hermione's head snapped over to Harry, and for the first time this morning, she noticed the tiny cut upon his bottom lip and the yellow and green tint to the skin around his right eye. Pushing up onto her elbows, her brow furrowed. "You hit Ron?"

Harry let out a heavy exhale, flopping back down onto the mattress. "Arsehole had it coming. Someone needed to make sure he was aware that insulting Hermione wasn't going to be bloody tolerated anymore," he explained, running a hand through his untidy hair. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat too if needed. No amount of bad press would negate how worth the look on his stupid face was."

* * *

 _Two weeks later..._

Autumn was Hermione's most favourite time of the year.

The way the air smelt crisp and clean.

The way the sky would darken early and the street lamps illuminated the night with their golden rays.

The way bakeries could bake well into the evening, filling the town with the sweet aroma of breads and savory pies.

Autumn had always felt like a rebirth—especially as an adolescent.

It signaled when she could return to the place she felt most at home, when she could once more surround herself with friends and find comfort in the cold stone walls of Hogwarts. Back then she'd just assumed the unease she felt during the summer holiday was because of boredom, but now she realised it was because she had been without Harry and Draco's magic.

And now that she was aware of how much she needed their presence in her life, she was determined to make sure she was always by their sides.

Practically, that didn't always work out for obvious reasons. Harry was still working directly with Aurora, his schedule typically jam packed full of events, meetings and interviews he needed to attend. Although he had spoken with the witch at length about slowing down the amount of _non-essential_ engagements he attended, it seemed as though she still prioritized Harry being away from Hermione over his wishes.

Draco's patience regarding the whole ordeal was razor thin, particularly because behind the walls of Grimmauld Place they did not hide what the three of them truly were. A triad, their magic bonded and shared. When Harry was missing for long bouts of time, Draco was typically the first to feel it. His tone would take a hard edge, his body tense with the need to be around their third. Those days typically ended with Hermione naked and pliant beneath Draco as she used her body to comfort him the only way she knew how until Harry could return home.

Over the course of the two weeks following their first night together as a triad, there was a shift in their relationship. It was as if they were more attuned to one another's needs, offering unspoken comfort when needed or space when the newness of their relationship became overwhelming.

This subconscious connection was the only explanation Hermione could find when Draco unexpectedly agreed to a date between the three of them. She had been nagging both Harry and him for days, practically begging for them to all go out as a couple instead of just the one on one dates that had dominated what little free time they had.

She had nearly given up hope when he finally agreed. Of course, there were stipulations. There were always stipulations when it came to the blond wizard, but she would have agreed to any caveat he had as long as it meant they were _all_ together.

Hermione prepared to be disappointed by his idea of a group date, thinking he might try to classify some photo opportunity between her and Harry with him tagging along in the background as a date. But to her pleasant surprise, he simply stated it must not occur within the wizarding world, as he was not prepared to cross the bridge of introducing their triad to the community just yet. Not when he claimed its announcement would likely bring that much more attention into their lives.

It took nearly a week for them to select a date, having had to reschedule three times due to Aurora _accidentally_ booking appointments for Harry on days that were supposed to be left empty. But it was finally here. Her date with both of the wizards who were quickly stealing her heart.

"I am not certain of your choice." Draco's voice, thick with skepticism, carried down to the sitting room where Hermione and Harry waited for their partner.

Harry, who was lounging on the couch, his legs spread wide, arm outstretched across the back, gave a soft huff of annoyance before he removed his thick black glasses to rub at the corner of his eye. "Can you just hurry the bloody hell up?" he called out.

Hermione glanced up from checking her purse for what felt like the sixth time, making sure everything was tucked safely inside for their day's adventure. "I'm sure you look fine, Draco."

Heavy footsteps descended the stairs and echoed down the hallway, marking his arrival. "Denim trousers though?" Draco moved into the entryway, his brow already cocked and a hand gesturing towards his outfit with the hint of a sneer wrinkling his nose.

Harry had insisted he dress Draco for their day on the town, and she wagered to guess he'd volunteered for the role simply to drive their typically impeccably dressed partner mad. _We don't want to draw attention, right?_ Because a triad wandering the streets of London wouldn't already draw attention, would it? But far be it from Hermione to point that fact out when she found the whole idea of Harry dressing Draco rather comical.

"Yes, denim trousers." Harry laughed, his head craning back to catch a full view of the wizard in the doorway. "You're supposed to blend in, remember?"

Draco looked down at his outfit, his hands brushing across the hem of a grey cotton jumper before he moved to adjust the waistband of the light wash trousers, his nose wrinkling in obvious disdain for the selection. "Muggles actually—"

"You already know the answer to that," Hermione interrupted, snapping her purse closed on her hip before she moved across the room towards Draco. Once within arm's reach, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders, smoothing out the soft cotton as she leaned on the tip of her toes to press a chaste kiss against his lips. "You look rather handsome, you know?"

Draco responded in kind, his hands finding her waist. Even through her dress, she could feel the heat of his body sink into hers, his magic winding into her soul from the single touch. "I look like I belong in a garden," Draco murmured as he leaned so their foreheads touched.

"So denim is a gardening thing for wizards?" Hermione teased, her smile widening until the corner of her eyes wrinkled. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers across the hair on the side of his head affectionately, and she let them trail down the back of his neck. "Well, Mr Gardener, how about you go give Harry a proper thank you for picking out such a lovely outfit?" she teased, nodding her head towards Harry.

Draco's fingers wandered along her spine, as they typically did, moving against her skin with long leisurely strokes that made stomach flutter. Everything about his presence was a calming sedative to her, whereas their other lover ramped her up. With them both, she was able to find a happy medium. "You just want to watch us kiss, don't you?"

"No..." Hermione lied, her voice trailing off, and she tried to smother her smile by biting her bottom lip. When Draco responded by lifting a brow, his face pinching skeptically, she let out a short laugh, turning to catch a glance of Harry watching both her and Draco with an almost primal sense of pride. Turning her attention back to the blond wizard in her arms, she gave a shrug. "Okay, fine. I do. But is that so bloody wrong?"

Draco's smile widened, his fingers pressing softly against her lower back until her body was flat against his, and he shook his head before leaning down to steal a kiss from her. His right hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her in place as his tongue slipped between her parted lips, brushing against hers in wickedly decedent strokes that made her resolve on leaving the flat and enjoying a night on the town waiver.

Perhaps they could just stay in? They could order take-out and make love in the library.

They had yet to christen that particular area of Grimmauld Place, and the idea of riding Draco to completion while he reclined on the chase lounge sounded more heavenly than her carefully laid plans.

Just as quickly as the idea flit across her mind, it was stolen away when his lips left hers. She felt him press a tender kiss between her eyes before he pulled back from their embrace. Hermione gulped, her hands smoothing the cotton dress across her abdomen as she took a slow breath, regaining her senses before she opened her eyes.

Turning around, she watched silently as Draco pulled Harry up from the couch with a single hand under his chin, guiding the taller wizard towards him. Although she couldn't hear their whispers, she could only assume it was some smart comment about his attire. Her teeth sunk into the inside of her cheek, eyes darkening as she watched them finally kiss. Harry's hands slowly wound around Draco's waist, pulling him close as the innocent kiss quickly began to get heated.

When Draco's hand curled into Harry's hair, angling his head back so he could plunder his mouth with his tongue just so, Hermione cleared her throat in a manner reminiscent of her former head of house. "Enough of that."

Harry was the first to break the kiss, much to Draco's dismay. Emerald eyes twinkled at her from across the room as he held out his hand towards her in a silent offer to join their embrace.

She hesitated just a moment, torn between giving into her heart's desire and just watching them like she liked to do on occasion. Deciding on the former, Hermione moved across the room and slipped her hand into Harry's outstretched palm, her fingers slowly lacing with his as Harry guided her between his and Draco's bodies.

One by one, their arms wrapped around her, holding her snug in an embrace that did wonders for her insecurities. She was better—far better than when Harry had decided to put this whole plan in motion—but the self-doubt was still ever present. Albeit, the voice that used to dominate her mind with a mantra of hatred was now quieted to a whisper. Most days, she didn't even hear it anymore. Most days, she lost herself in the feeling of acceptance, warmth and, dare she even think it, love that flowed between the three of them.

Nuzzling her nose against Harry's chest, she allowed her eyes to drift closed as she inhaled deeply, letting his scent intoxicate her senses for just a moment before she lifted her chin to rest it against the centre of his chest. "You're both making it nearly impossible to leave," she informed them.

"Nearly?" Draco's breath ghosted across her neck.

"Sounds like we aren't trying hard enough, Draco," Harry quipped.

Not bothering with a real reply, Hermione let out an impatient growl, and she reached back to lace her other hand with Draco's before stepping from where they had sandwiched her between their bodies towards the front door. She had spent weeks pining after a _real_ date with her boys, and she was going to be damned if she let something like her runaway libido stop it.

* * *

The day went better than she'd assumed it would.

Even with all his complaints, and nasty remarks about how Muggle trainers were offensive footwear, Draco seemed to have enjoyed his time in Muggle London.

Their itinerary had been filled with the traditional touristy spots, all places the youngest Malfoy had never visited while growing up. Surprisingly, there was also a number of firsts for Harry mixed in throughout the day. She'd never really forgotten about his abuse growing up, but it did catch her off guard when he offhandedly mentioned not being allowed to go on school trips as a child, which is why he had not visited the Natural History Museum before.

By the time the sun had set and Hermione had successfully checked off every stop on her list, she'd found both men far too tired to make the trek across the city to the French restaurant she'd made reservations at. Instead of worrying about the change of plans like she might have done once upon a time, she took their lead and wandered the neighborhood hand in hand with each of her boyfriends until they found a Draco-approved diner they could grab a bite to eat from.

All piled into one side of the booth—at her insistence—Hermione leaned comfortably against Harry's chest, her legs draped across Draco's lap so her foot poked out just slightly into the aisle. "So wait a moment," Hermione interrupted Draco's story, holding her chip in the air as a signal. "You actually told Snape I slapped you!?"

"Of course I did!" Draco scoffed, breaking his piece of battered fish into a more manageable size before he popped it into his mouth. "I wanted to get you expelled."

"Expelled?" Harry laughed. His arm was wrapped across the back of the booth casually, the pose providing enough space for Hermione to snuggle against him, but also advantageous because it allowed him to lace his fingers with Draco's. While the group had managed to catch their fair share of disparaging glances from passersby today, Hermione noticed neither Harry nor Draco had once moved to hide their relationship from the outside world. The wizard's would hold hands, kiss and shower each other in affections like any other couple out enjoying a day on the town—except they weren't just like any other couple, because they both had her as well as each other.

It was as if they were lost in their own little world, playing the part of tourists in the bustling city and allowing themselves to put all their cares on hold just for one day.

"Well that was a bit of an overreaction." Hermione dipped her chip in the small paper cup of tarter saucer before taking a bite.

"Well, I think it was a bit of an overreaction for you to slap me," Draco mumbled, his eyes widening as he dropped them to look at his plate.

"You were trying to kill an innocent animal!"

"Innocent? The bloody thing maimed me!"

"Really? Because I've seen every inch of your body and Buckbeak didn't leave a single mark on you," Hermione shot back, her nostrils flaring.

"Is that so? You know every inch of my body so perfectly well?" Draco turned his body towards her, causing her legs to drift up higher in his lap and lifted a single brow in her direction. A challenge was hidden in his words.

"Yes. I do," Hermione replied flatly, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Do I need to strip here and prove you wrong?" Draco threatened, silver eyes beginning to darken as he leaned in closer.

"I won't be wrong, but by all means, feel free." Hermione made a sweeping gesture in front of her, her lips set in a confident smirk. She had spent far too much time memorizing the contours of both Harry and Draco's bodies to be anything but positive about her assessment.

From her recollection, Draco only held three scars on his entire body. The smallest amount between all three of them, but still equally as expansive on his skin. The largest was the zig-zag bisection across his chest from Harry's _Sectrumsempra_ —still pink and puckered even years later. The next on the back of his left knee, a small black jinx blemish in the shape of a star. She'd stared at it while he slept, wondering what sort of malicious spell left its mark on him, and who the caster might have been. She'd touched it once, on accident late one night while in bed, and based on the way Draco nearly lurched away from the brush of her fingers, whatever magic still lingered beneath the blast starburst hurt.

His last scar was a charm mark on his shoulder blade, nearly the size of her hand. The angry red scar was one that she had the unfortunate pleasure of bearing on her own skin, compliments of Yaxley during the final battle, although she doubted Draco had received his then. The first time she saw it—truly saw it instead of being lost in the motions of stripping him naked so they could make love—it nearly stole her breath as the memories of taking the modified blasting curse came to the forefront of her mind. Her heart broke, thinking about how painful it must have been for him.

The sweet irony of not only knowing the exact scars he bore but also thinking they added to his beauty as opposed to deterring it was not lost on her. She had spent so long being embarrassed and stricken over her own imperfections. The scar on her side from Dolohov, the charm mark on her thigh from Yaxley, the thin pink scar that ran the length of her shoulder from Bellatrix, and the tiny little shrapnel pock mocks that covered her shoulders, all of them were physical markers of what she'd once perceived as worthlessness.

She had hated them for so long, thinking them ugly reminders of a painful past, but the way Harry and Draco looked at her nearly made her forget they existed. For whatever reason, she found not one, but two wizards who worshiped her mind, body, and soul, who didn't need to tell her she was beautiful because it was so plainly written on their faces every morning they woke up at each other's sides.

Draco glanced around the diner, as if to check to make sure the coast was clear, before his hands dropped to the bottom of his cotton jumper, and he began to lift it up using the hand not currently held by Harry.

"Whoa, alright that's enough!" Harry leaned forward, inadvertently pushing Hermione into his chest when he reached over to still Draco's hand. "Merlin, can you two just have a normal conversation? It's like arguing is some form of foreplay for you two– _not_ that I mind, but can we at least wait until we're back home before you start undressing each other to prove a point about how school-aged Draco was a right prick and school-aged Hermione had a bit of a temper."

"I didn't have a temper!" Hermione gasped in shock, her mouth dropping as she looked at Harry.

"Really?" Harry cocked a brow, laughing in disbelief. "You punched Draco, you set birds after Ron, and if I remember correctly, _you_ set Snape's robes on fire once."

"What?!" Draco eyes widened, the defiance that had glittered in his eyes moments ago fading to a childish glee as he turned his attention back to Hermione, who was currently trying to prevent the deep crimson blush from spreading down her neck to her chest. "You set Snape's robes on fire?!"

"You know what? Change of subject!" Hermione said, withdrawing her legs from Draco's lap, and she sat upright in the booth quickly. "How did you enjoy your day in the city, Draco?"

"First off, we are so _not_ done having that conversation," Draco said quickly, silver eyes flashed up to Harry briefly. "You'll tell me that story later?"

"Oh yeah. If only to embarrass her more."

Hermione groaned before pushing her plate of luke-warm chips to the center of the table, no longer interested in finishing when she knew that Harry would likely tell Draco about all of their childhood adventures, which would most certainly include many embarrassing memories she would rather avoid. Puberty was hard for anyone, but for a bushy-haired outspoken girl, it had been particularly difficult.

"Good," Draco breathed, beaming at their boyfriend before he looked back down to Hermione. "Anyways, today was… today was enjoyable." He said.

"Wow, don't overwhelm us with your enthusiasm, Draco." Harry snorted.

"No, I mean it. It was, dare I say it, fun?" Draco shrugged, picking up another piece of his fish, and he took a bite.

"Really? Even with the Muggle clothes?" Hermione looked up at him, her teeth chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she picked at the paper napkin that sat in front of her.

"Yes, even with denim trousers and trainers," Draco said with a small smirk. Reaching out, he laid his hand over hers to still the nervous tick. "I might even consider doing this again."

"Really?" There was a hopeful lilt to her voice that made her voice tick up an octave. She slowly turned her hand palm up and laced their fingers together. Her thumb ran across his pulse point on his wrist, the slow thrum of his heartbeat a steady rhythm her own longed to match.

"Really." Draco smiled, twisting their intertwined hands over, and he brought the back of her palm to his lips. She felt her heart flutter, her magic practically pouring from her body, seeking out his to dance and intertwine until there was no longer two forces but one.

Hermione turned, looking over her shoulder to Harry, who sat silently with a knowing smile on his lips. Based on the way his eyes twinkled with adoration as he looked at her and Draco, Hermione figured it was safe to assume that he had enjoyed their time together as well.

Leaning back into Harry's chest, Hermione once more lifted her legs, draping them across Draco's as she dropped her and Draco's laced hands into her lap. Her free hand moved to rest on Harry's thigh, fingers curling lightly around the thick muscle. From the outside, it might appear as if she clung to both of her wizards for fear of them leaving, but the truth was the opposite. She was afraid if she wasn't touching them—grounding her to this moment in time that she wished to remember for the rest of her life—that she might actually float away from how utterly full her heart felt.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Massive thank you to Disenchantedglow for alphaing for me and Ravenslight for being the best beta ever. Any mistakes in this chapter as my own because these two simply rock.

I hope you're enjoying the fluff & happiness break from the darkness we were so consumed with at the beginning of this story. I am so happy to be able to write these three at peace with not only one another but themselves too.

Only 3 more chapters to go!

Until next time xx


	23. The Past Never Dies

Mornings had become Hermione's favorite time of the day now that she shared a bed with her boyfriends. Not too long ago, she used to fear sleep. She dreaded the idea of waking up and returning to whatever hellscape awaited her, wishing instead to remain forever in a dreamland that helped her forget her problems. But now, each dawn was another chance at happiness. Each sunrise was new and beautiful, and life suddenly felt worth living.

Wearing Draco's boxer briefs and Harry's undershirt from the day before, Hermione sat on the kitchen counter, her legs swinging idly as she waited for the kettle to whistle. Her mind wandered, using the quiet of the early morning to try and decipher how she had ended up here—in a relationship with not only her childhood best friend, but also her former enemy.

Her fingers brushed across her lips, reliving the feel of their shared kisses from last night when they'd tumbled into bed after a busy day at work. Even now, weeks into their triad, it felt so unreal, like she would wake up and still find herself in that shitty flat in Muggle London, strung out and desperate for her next fix.

But now every morning, she woke still wrapped in the safety of her lovers' arms, still protected from her demons. Still whole.

The kettle's high-pitched whistle pulled Hermione from her reverie, and in a mad dash to shut off the burner before the noise woke her sleeping partners upstairs, she slipped off the counter. After picking up the hot pad she'd set down beside the stove, she pulled the boiling water from the flame and poured the hot water into the blue floral teapot she'd prepared earlier.

Once full of water, she placed the hot kettle on the iron trivet on the counter and set the ceramic lid on the pot, the soft clank echoing around her. It was normally Draco's routine to make their morning pot of tea and wrangle her and Harry out of bed, but today she wanted to surprise the blond wizard. He'd done so much for her, beyond the whole dating her thing. Without his and Harry's help, she would likely still be sitting at rock bottom, begging Charlie for a fix, trying to make the most of the sparse Galleons in her vaults.

Hermione placed the teapot on a white tray she'd found in a cupboard, arranging it between the news paper's she retrieved from the Post owl and three mugs she'd already pre-filled with their preferred complements for their morning beverage. Adjusting the napkins that held pastries she'd unboxed, she pulled her wand from behind her ear and waved it toward the tray.

Gold wisps spilled from the tip of the vinewood, moving underneath the white tray and lifting it slowly in the air. Since their triad's unification, her magic had returned in full force; she no longer struggled to cast simple spells or had accidental outbursts. It was almost as if the melding of their magics helped her in more ways than just mentally.

Directing the tray to follow her, Hermione moved up the stairs, careful to keep her footsteps light as she approached their bedroom at the end of the hallway just in case her boyfriends were still asleep.

A low murmur of sleepy voices drifted out to her from the cracked open door as she pushed it open, and the small smile that had been on her lips stretched wide across her face even before she entered her room.

"Good morning," Hermione said, nudging open the door with her hip, making sure it was wide enough for the tray to float into the room.

Harry lifted his head from Draco's chest, his hand still tracing lazily across the scar that trisected the wizard's body. "Morning, 'Mione," he returned, emerald eyes squinting across the room towards her. His contacts were in the bathroom, and his glasses still safely sat on the dresser, rendering him nearly blind.

"Morning, love." Draco's hand was still petting Harry's untidy hair, his fingers twisting and turning the wild black locks into small peaks. "I was wondering where you'd snuck off too."

"I guessed the library," Harry teased mid-yawn, letting his head drop back down to rest on Draco's chest, his arm that looped around the wizard's bare waist tightening a bit as he snuggled in.

"Why on earth would I leave to go to the library when I have a perfectly good book in my nightstand and a comfortable bed to read it in?" Hermione directed her wand toward the nightstand closest to Harry's side of the bed, brown eyes narrowing in concentration as she slowly lowered it as to not spill the pot.

"So you would have four perfectly good books?" Harry shrugged.

Draco ruffled his hair, leaning down to press a quick kiss on the wizard's forehead. "Smart ass."

"You're rubbing off on me—can't help it." Harry tipped his head up, a sleepy smile spread across his lips as he leaned in to give Draco a chaste kiss, his hand sliding across the other man's chest to rest against the side of his neck.

"I can do more than rub off if—"

Clearing her throat, Hermione crossed her arms over her bosom, her eyebrows lifting as she eyed her lovers with a playfully narrowed gaze. "Are you really going to just ignore my tea and snog?" she questioned, clicking her tongue at the men as she felt her magic drift across the room to brush up against theirs.

"That _had_ been the plan."

"Of course not, Granger." Their answered overlapped.

Hermione let out a short belly laugh, her head tipping and her curls slipping off her shoulders to cascade down her back as she shook her head. "You two are unbelievable." Setting her wand next to theirs on the dresser beside her, Hermione gestured to the nightstand. "Can you at least pretend to drink it before you start in? I'd like to think me waking up early wasn't a complete waste."

Draco, always the first to make sure his lover's emotional needs were taken care of, gently patted Harry's shoulder, dropping one last kiss on the wizard's lips before he leaned across to snag the periodicals off the tray. "Green mug's mine?" he questioned, glancing coyly at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

"Of course it is," Harry said quickly, waiting for Draco to move off of him before he sat up. Reaching back, Harry adjusted the pillows behind him before leaning over to pour tea from the pot into the three mugs. "'Mione and I wouldn't be caught dead with enemy colours."

Hermione was long over the whole house rivalry thing but found it rather adorable the way the pair would still squabble over something as trivial as who wore what colour. Moving across the room, Hermione crawled onto the end of the bed on all fours and made her way towards the middle of the mattress.

"Says the man who had no problems sucking this Slytherin's cock last night," Draco murmured, cutting his eyes towards Hermione and winking when she let out a snort. Scooting over, he made room for her, fluffing the pillow enticingly before he accepted his mug from Harry.

"I refuse to dignify that with a comment." Harry flushed, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Hermione's cheek as she settled in next to him before he held out her mug for her to take.

"Only because you have nothing to say," Hermione teased, the corner of her eyes wrinkling as she looked up at Harry whose cheeks flushed crimson. With one hand around her mug, Hermione settled back into the bed, crossing her legs at the ankle. Her day was going to be busy; she had meetings at the Ministry regarding a new wing at St. Mungo's that she and Draco were helping fund. But for just a moment, she allowed herself a bit of peace, basking in the glow of the warmth her lovers' magics filled her with.

"You're supposed to be on my side," Harry whined, lazily looping his arm around Hermione's shoulders as he reclined, taking a small sip from his steaming mug.

Unfolding his paper, Draco let out a small puff of air. "Wrong again, Potter. She's always on my side," Draco drawled.

"Actually, I'm on both of your sides," Hermione corrected, glancing on either side of her before she took a triumphant drink when neither wizard protested.

It was then, in the temporary silence, that Draco's mood suddenly shifted. Before a swear left his mouth, Hermione could feel his magic flare. The invisible force widened until it felt like it was going to break down the bedroom walls.

"Fuck!"

Hermione jumped and let out a small hiss when her hot tea splashed against her bare thighs. "Merlin's pants, Draco!" Hermione used the bottom hem of Harry's shirt to wick the hot liquid away from her skin before she looked up at Draco with a furrowed brow.

"Everything okay?" Harry questioned, concern thick in his tone.

"Fuck!" Draco swore again, not bothering to answer Harry's question, his spine straightening so fast that he, too, nearly spilled his drink in his hurry to get out of the bed. Slamming his mug down on the nightstand, Draco swung his legs over the mattress. stood up, still naked from the night before, and began to pace the length of the bed, his eyes moving rapidly over the front page of the paper before he quickly tore it open, searching through the pages in what Hermione could only assume was an attempt to find the rest of the story.

"Are you going to say anything or just leave us wondering?" Harry said forcefully as he wandlessly _Accioed_ his glasses from across the room.

Draco hushed him, holding out a single finger as his eyes flickered across the page before he let out an exasperated sigh. Folding the paper in half, he tossed it on his spot on the bed before threading his fingers in his hair, his eyes taking on a faraway look Hermione had come to recognise as his "crisis-management" face. When he was so focused on fixing a problem, he would drown out the rest of the world by forcing his occlumency shields up.

Hermione snatched up the paper, her heart thumping wildly with worry about what she'd find inside. Perhaps it was an article about his family? Or maybe something from the war. Whatever was printed inside, it was clearly enough to cause such a visceral reaction. Unfolding the paper, she smoothed it across her thighs as she felt Harry's chest press against her bicep and shoulder as the wizard leaned over her.

On the front cover, underneath the title story about the latest expansion in Diagon Alley, was a moving picture that should most definitely not exist. It was from a week prior, taken on their date. Hermione was sandwiched between her two lovers in the Natural History museum, her arms around Harry's waist, who in turn had his arms wrapped around both her and Draco. She was looking up, a smile painted beautifully across her lips as she watched her wizards share a kiss.

As beautiful as the moment was—a stolen embrace in Muggle London—it was the headline that ran underneath it that made her gasp. _Perverted Pair: Fallen Golden Girl and Death Eater Seduce The Boy Who Lived._

* * *

Hours later, Hermione stomped her foot. "Absolutely not!" Her brown eyes aflame as she looked across the kitchen at Draco, their dinner roast long forgotten, cold and congealed on the table. Harry sat quietly, still nursing his glass of fizzy lemonade as if it was the most interesting thing in the room and doing his best to avoid getting in the middle of what was turning into an epic row between two thirds of the triad. "Are you fucking mad?"

"Hermione, let's be reasonable about this," Draco pleaded from the opposite side of the table. His hand rose to card through his blond hair, and despite his best efforts to appear calm and collected, there was a distinct tremble to his fingertips that he knew both of his lovers noticed. Pushing his fringe back across his forehead in frustration, he dramatically dropped his hands to his sides, stuffing his fists into his pockets. "I'm not asking you to do anything that—"

"You're asking me to lie!" Hermione interrupted, brown eyes flashing as her tone lifted an octave. Her anger bubbled over, as she made no attempt to hide it. "And before you even ask again, let me inform you that I am _not_ doing it. I don't bloody care what you say or if you're upset at me for the next two months—or even two bloody years—because absolutely nothing is going to change my opinion on this, Draco!"

Draco sighed as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the tips of his finger and thumb digging into the pressure point in a feeble attempt to calm himself down before he lost control of his temper and returned the fury being served to him by his—typically—mild mannered witch. When the air in his lungs began to burn and his body began to fire signals begging for him to release it, he let loose a shaky exhale that seemed to chip away at his resolve.

Draco was doing his best to contain his composure and not give in to Hermione's outburst. Although he was presently winning, he knew he was only one snap away from falling over the edge of irrationality behind her. It wasn't like he wanted to hide their relationship—at least not forever. But he knew full well the repercussions that announcing their triad would have on their relationship. And selfishly, he wanted to keep it secret to hold onto these little moments before everyone in the British Wizarding World began to demand access to their private lives.

"So what do you propose we do then, Hermione?" Draco questioned with lifted brows, his lips pursing together into a thin line as he looked expectantly across the table at her. He could feel the cold walls of his Occlumency shields raise, blocking her and Harry from feeling the pulse of his magic—and in the same breath preventing him from feeling theirs. It was unintentional, an ingrained reaction that he hadn't even realised he was doing until a bitter cold seeped across his chest where warm and happiness had recently resided.

Hermione stumbled, the manic sway of her body coming to a complete stand still, and she gripped the back of her chair as she looked at him.

Gone was the raging inferno that lit her gaze seconds before, and what lay in the brown depths of her eyes was bitter ache. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to find the words that would pierce through his shield and harm him as much as the jarring loss of his magic physically pained her. But even through her impulse to lash out at him in retaliation, she just couldn't bring herself to. Not when her growing feelings for him had crossed into the dread _L-word_ category long ago. "I—I don't know, okay?" She sighed, her tongue running across her teeth behind closed lips as she tried to regain her composure. "But coming out and saying that— that you were a mistake isn't an option for me… not now. Not ever."

"Technically speaking, _you_ wouldn't have to say anything," Draco tried to reason, his hands bracing himself on the back of his chair as he ignored the impulse to dash across the room and wrap her in his arms. He hurt her. He bloody swore he would never do that again, but here he was, demanding she renounce him. And while part of him hated himself for pushing to hide what they all were, the sensible businessman inside him told him this was _the only_ way.

Pulling his eyes away from her, Draco chewed on the inside of his bottom lip as he turned his attention to their painfully silent boyfriend. Harry was pushing the cold roasted vegetables across his plate. "Harry, you'll say it, won't you?"

"Don't you dare answer that question, Harry James Potter. So help me Nimue, I will make sure you sleep on the couch for the rest of the bloody week," Hermione threatened quickly, her hand smacking loudly against the back of the chair to punctuate her point.

Harry jumped at the sound, dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter before he looked up, glancing between the two with an almost boyish remorse, as if weighing out the options of whose lead he would follow. His hand rose to the back of his neck, his fingers pressing into the tight muscle as he finally turned his full attention to Draco and offered only a small shrug. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. You know I can't."

"Ugh!" Draco growled as he tossed his hands up in the air. "You can't bloody do that, Granger! That's not fair, and you know it!" he snapped, firmer than intended, as he narrowed his eyes across the table at her.

"What you're demanding we do isn't fair, Draco!" Hermione shot back, leveling her eyes at him, her spine straightening. Although she was a foot shorter than him, she held a demeanor that let everyone in the room know this was, in fact, the hill she was willing to die on when it came to their relationship. As far as she was concerned, this was it. Their relationship was no longer a secret. The pictures posted in the prophet were as clear as Trelawney's crystal ball—forever blank because Merlin only knew the witch was full of shite ninety percent of the time. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see what the three of them were. Hell, even before Hermione knew what the name for their type of relationship, she knew that the three of them belonged with one another.

"What I am a _sking_ you to do is consider your career… both of your careers."

"I don't give a flying fuck what any one of those asshole reporters has to say! Merlin's pants, haven't you figured that out yet?" Hermione snapped, pushing away from the table once again as she began to pace, her hands moving animatedly at her sides as she spoke. "The only people whose opinions matter to me are in this bloody room, Draco. They can write whatever the hell they want because none of it bloody matters! I know how I feel about both of you; I'm fairly certain I've made it clear, but let us revisit it since you clearly need a reminder—"

"Granger," Draco tried to interrupt to no avail.

" _I_ want to be with _both_ of you. I don't want just Harry, I don't want just _you,_ and I'm bloody positive you both feel the exact same way, which is why it's so bloody baffling you're not taking this… this opportunity to _finally_ announce our relationship so we can just live our bloody lives the way we're so clearly intended! Our fucking magic is compelling us to be together, Draco. The literal essence of our souls is practically demanding it. Who the bloody fuck do you think you are telling _our magic_ otherwise?"

"Granger."

"No!" she yelled, stomping her foot once again. "No, you don't get to talk now!" Hermione pointed at her blond boyfriend across the table, eyes narrowed in a warning. "I've heard enough. Draco, you've changed. You're not the boy we knew in school, and you're far from the monster the papers claim you to be. You… you fixed me. If you were such a bad guy, you wouldn't have agreed to come back and help me. Because regardless of pay, there was a small part of you that had to know it was the right thing to do."

As she spoke, Hermione watched as the sparkle in Draco's eyes began to fade, his will to fight leaching from his body. In its place, a slow, creeping worry invaded. And despite being furious with him, her heart panged with sympathy for him. What he was feeling—the doubt, the self-loathing—it was a feeling she was all too familiar with, one she struggled with every damn day. A feeling she wanted neither of her boyfriends to ever experience. She fought the urge to climb across the table and pull him into her arms where she could hold him, kiss him, and tell him how bloody brilliant he was. To inform him precisely how much he meant to her—and maybe even confess that four letter word that had danced on the tip of her tongue for the past few days.

"Draco." Hermione's voice grew quiet, and she exhaled heavily when she felt the wave of anger that had consumed her slip away. "Please don't make us do this…" Her hand twitched as she watched Draco crumble, his Occlumency walls dropping, and his magic finally moved to join her and Harry's once again. Except it wasn't the same as it usually was—it wasn't the playful winding whisps she had come to recognise. Instead, his magic seemed to move in a slow trickle, barely grazing against theirs. "I'll do whatever you ask—you know I will—but this is something I don't think I'm capable of doing."

Draco nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered across the floor, as if studying the grain of the wooden planks that covered the kitchen. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he turned his attention over to Harry as he stuffed his hands into his pocket. "And you feel the same, Potter?"

Harry flashed the smallest hint of a sympathetic smile, giving Draco a silent nod before he stood. The sound of the chair scraping across the hardwood sent a shiver down her spine, and Hermione watched silently as Harry moved to Draco's side, his hand running up the other wizard's arm and across his shoulder before finally cupping the side of the blond's neck, his thumb grazing the sharply defined jaw.

She knew exactly what Harry was doing—how could she not? They'd used the same tactic on her countless times before. Touch, but not just anyone's touch. A third of their triad. It was grounding. It would immediately calm whatever restless sea raged inside her, and judging by the way Draco practically melted into Harry, it was doing the exact same for him.

"You know I do," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible from where she stood.

Pushing her pride aside, Hermione rounded the table, her socked feet padding softly on the hardwood as she slowly approached her boyfriends, careful to keep herself at an arm's length just in case Draco wasn't willing to accept her affection so quickly after their row. "Draco, if they can't accept what we are, then so be it," Hermione began, eyes pleading with him to understand her point. "But I refuse to live my life by others' standards anymore… I don't want to hide us. Not when us being together helped fix what was broken inside me," she said, bringing her hand up to rest against the centre of her chest, her fingers tapping lightly against her sternum.

She could feel Draco waiver, and, as if his magic was begging him to comply with her words, she could feel it roll around her and Harry, like a dragon wrapping its body around its treasure protectively, selfishly hiding it from the world. "So what do you propose we do then?" Draco questioned, slowly lifting his hand palm up towards her. She didn't hesitate to take it, allowing herself to be pulled into the orbit that Harry and Draco created, her body slipping against Draco's, finding that spot nestled against his side that seemed to be made specifically for her. "Just come out and tell everyone we're a triad and they can fuck off if they don't accept it?"

"Honestly, that idea doesn't sound half bad," Harry mused, and when Draco shot him a look in incredulity, Harry couldn't that his smile spread wide across his face. "What? You suggested it, not me." Harry leaned in, pressing a kiss to the crown of Draco's head before his hand moved across his shoulders until his arm was looped casually across his back.

"Salazar's sack, I was clearly joking, Potter. Of course, we can't do that!" Draco grumbled, yet despite the mild disapproval in his tone, his body language betrayed him. He leaned into Harry's chest, letting the wizard absorb his body weight while his arms moved around Hermione's waist, tugging her closer until he was surrounded on either side by his partners.

"Well, I'm inclined to agree with Harry on this one," Hermione said, winding her arms around Draco's neck. She let one hand rest on the soft skin there while the other crawled up Harry's broad chest and rested on his shoulder, her fingers massaging the rope of muscle that connected it to his neck.

"Well that's two against one," Harry breathed, his eyes half-closing in pleasure due to Hermione's kneading. "I think you have to agree to it now."

Draco let out a short laugh, his fingers curling into the soft skin on Hermione's hips, and he leaned in to bury his face against the crook of her neck. "This is so bloody rich," Draco mumbled, his lips brushing across her skin, sending mild thrills of excitement down to pool in her core. She knew it was the magic fueling the slow trickle of desire, but dammit if the touch of her men didn't cloud her senses every damn time.

"What is?" Hermione questioned, turning her head to press her lips softly against his temple encouragingly. Her hand on the back of Draco's neck rose, and she slipped her fingers into his flaxen hair, letting her nails scratch across his scalp in a way she knew he liked.

"Me falling in love with a pair of bloody Gryffindors," Draco practically purred into her skin as he pulled her closer, clearly enjoying the combined touch of his partners. "You both lack any sort of self-preservation. It's honestly bloody baffling how you made it to adulthood in one piece."

Hermione could feel Draco's lips move against her skin but could barely make out the noise of him continuing to talk as her mind became stuck on a single word.

Love.

 _Love._

Draco just admitted to loving them!

Harry was the first to react. "What did you say?" he interrupted, and Hermione could feel his body go rigid, his arms that had moved to wrap around Draco and rest on her ribs stiffened, and his magic practically pulsed with nervous energy.

"Which part?" Draco huffed, clearly annoyed that he was interrupted, having paid no attention to his accidental admission. "How you both are going to drive me to an early grave or the whole bit on the both of you lacking any self-preservation?" Draco questioned, not bothering to lift his head up from where he was currently nuzzling against her neck, his nose brushing across the pulse point just beneath her ear. The combination of his touch and that gravity of what he just said made her knees weak, and she was more thankful now than ever she had moved into Draco's arms just moments earlier.

She curled her fingers into his hair, gathering a small handful of his cropped locks, and she slowly pulled until his neck craned back enough for their eyes to meet. Her eyes flickered between his, dancing in the soft light of the kitchen as a slow grin spread across her lips. She could feel her magic pour out from her, nearly corporeal as it filled the room, growing and expanding as if trying to absorb both Draco's and Harry's magic in her elation.

"Granger?" Draco breathed, his brow knitting in confusion. But before he could continue, Hermione leaned up on her toes, and her mouth crashed into his.

She focused everything she could on that single kiss, pouring every ounce of her feelings for him into that single moment. The love. The devotion. The gratitude. She would never be able to thank either of her wizards enough for what they had given her—a second chance at life and something even more valuable. Their love.

Draco's arms instinctively curled around her waist, pulling her body so tightly against him she could feel his heartbeat tattoo against her chest. And just as their tongues brushed against one another with the promise of this not ending with just a snog in the kitchen, Hermione slowly pulled back, breaking the sudden kiss, and leaving the blond wizard breathless.

"I love you too," she whispered, her nose nuzzling his before she pulled away completely so she could look up at Harry who was beaming down at them with a look that could only belong to someone so clearly devoted to both of them. He wasn't jealous or upset. No, he was happy—elated to see their love for one another. "And I love you too."

The corner of Harry's eyes crinkled at her words, and he leaned over Draco's shoulder to steal a kiss, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip playfully. "I know you do. I've always known," Harry whispered, their lips brushing against one another.

Draco, still sandwiched between them, stood silent. His face pinched as he tried to process what exactly was going on, and then as if someone has _Lumosed_ a dark room, his eyes widened as the realisation of what he had said dawned on him. "I… We… It's really rather—"

"Oh, shut up," Harry pressed his weight into Draco's back, jostling the wizard lightly as his hand moved from Hermione's ribs and he tilted Draco's head back. Before Draco could stutter another word, Harry's mouth was on his. Rough and forceful, just like every other aspect of their relationship. Harry's tongue pushed past Draco's lips and demanded entry, sweeping against his, and stealing every last breath from Draco's lungs.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, her pulse quickening as she watched her boyfriends snog. She could feel Draco tremble, his body vibrating with a rush of endorphins that flooded his nervous system. When Harry let loose a growl, it seemed to wake up something inside Draco, because his grip on her hips tightened, and she watched as he bit at Harry's bottom lip roughly upon breaking their kiss.

Draco looked between the two, his eyes blown wide with desire, but underneath she could make out the hint of something else. Something that had been underlying their entire relationship. Devotion. She knew he was scared of what this meant—them becoming a triad, the reality of it all—but she could see the emotion as clear as day now that she'd come to recognize what it was.

Hermione could feel Draco's magic slip against hers, swirling between her and Harry's until the three became one—just like it did late at night when they all took comfort in each other's touch. And as they merged together, that feeling of wholeness returned. Every ounce of space within her felt full—complete. She felt the same as she had all those years ago at Hogwarts, like she could take on the world. Fearless. Bold. Back then she just assumed it was adolescent courage, but now? Well now she realized it was because she had some part of both of them within her.

Draco ran his tongue across his lips nervously, as if afraid to speak now that he'd admitted his feelings. Reaching up Hermione brushed her fingers through his hair comfortingly, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. "It's okay," she whispered. "You don't have to say it again if you aren't ready," she assured him. "But just know I feel the same way."

" _We_ feel the same way," Harry corrected.

"Yes, we are aware." Draco sighed irritatedly as he paced in front of the fireplace, his mobile phone pressed to his ear while he absentmindedly scrolled through the Roost on Harry's mobile that he commandeered upon daybreak that morning. It was nearly ten in the morning, and he was still in his sleep pants—something that was damn near unheard of for the normally overly punctual wizard. "No, you may not speak with him." A short silence followed. "Because you are no longer representing him!" Another pause, during which Draco's face mottled with anger. "My relationship status with Potter literally has no bearing on his decision to cancel your contract. You helped secure that fate all on your own, Aurora."

It had been nearly two weeks since the kitchen row that had lead to declarations of love, which of course led to christening the Grimmauld Place kitchen in the most deliciously devious way possible. Two bloody weeks for Draco to map out his plan, secure a contract with a reporter who wouldn't leak their story, arrange for professional photographs of the three inside Grimmauld Place, proofread the article, draft the cancelation letter for Aurora, and have tea with his mother to let her know before the news officially broke.

In truth, Hermione would have been impressed by his speed at handling all of it if she hadn't been so bloody excited to finally be able to have both of her wizards on her arm in public.

Which is why when the owl tapped irritably on their bedroom window, demanding treats for delivery of the _Daily Prophet_ , she launched out of bed instead of forcing Harry or Draco to retrieve it.

And just as planned, their image was splashed across the front page: _And Malfoy Makes Three—Wizarding Britain's Latest Triad_.

As she unfurled the paper, her eyes flashed to the large photograph Draco had selected—the one where she sat between her wizards on the couch, practically in Harry's lap and her feet in Draco's. Her face was scrunched up with laughter, while Harry and Draco were the picturesque couple, staring lovingly at each other. It was far from the professionally posed images Draco had arranged for them that day, but it was almost more perfect than the others. It was candid. It showed the world the briefest insight into their relationship without divulging too much or giving away too little. She barely had enough time to admire it before Draco snatched the paper out of her hand and took off downstairs to begin what had turned into a marathon of inquiries from various news outlets, sponsors, and, of course, Aurora.

"Do you think she took the news well?" Harry whispered, doing his best to keep his voice low as he eyed their boyfriend across the room curiously. Harry had one arm draped around her shoulders, his fingers twisting the tips of her curls nervously as his other hand drummed a steady rhythm on the arm of the couch.

Hermione let out a quiet laugh, her stomach muscles flexing to keep it from rising to a belly laugh. He had to be kidding right? "Which news? You terminating her contract or the front page announcement that you're in a committed relationship with not only a drug addict but also a former classmate who happens to be male?" Turning her head to look up at Harry with a cocked brow, her smile did little to conceal her mirth. The wizarding world was far more open to same sex relationships than her experience with Muggles, but the fact remained that the triad relationship was throwing years of PR work out the window for the Ministry.

Harry's head snapped toward her at her words. "Former drug addict," he quickly corrected, leveling his gaze with her as if to let her know that speaking ill about herself was still off limits, before he pulled his attention back to Draco. "And both, I suppose? I mean, I don't particularly care what she has to say about us, but… how do you think she's handling the news that she's fired?"

"As I am representing both Granger and Potter, it is well within my rights to decline the Ministry's demand for compliance on all of our behalfs," Draco snapped, silver eyes focused on the glowing screen in his hand, his thumb flicking across the magicked glass. Hermione couldn't help but marvel at his ability to multitask, especially considering the high stress of this situation. "To be quite frank, I don't bloody care what Minister Kingsley has to say about this, because nowhere in Potter's contract did it state he could not be a member of a triad relationship. In fact, the only stipulation that was given was for him to refrain from associating with criminals. And while you might have forgotten, Ms. Puddlesworth, I was cleared of all of my crimes, and I know for a fact Granger lacks any sort of record. So unless you have an actual purpose for this call, I suggest we end it."

"Oh, I think she took the news well," Hermione drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gestured towards Draco mid-eye roll as a shrill voice screamed at him through the mobile. "I mean, when have you ever known her to be anything other than accepting of your decisions?"

"Good point," Harry murmured, tugging on a wayward curl before he leaned over to press a soft kiss on her cheek. "You're being rather cheeky about this whole ordeal considering—" Harry waved his hand toward the ever-growing mound of letters that had steady arriving since the news of their relationship broke this morning. Nearly all of which were addressed to Hermione from a plethora of angry witches—and a couple of wizards—cursing her for taking Harry off the market. "You aren't bothered by it all?"

Hermione could only shrug before snuggling closer to Harry's side. "Not really. Those horrendous articles Rita wrote during fourth year resulted in quite a bit of hate mail. Maybe they prepared me." She laughed with a glance at Harry, whose cheeks blossomed in a sheepish blush.

"Oh shite, I forgot about that," Harry admitted with a laugh, his hand moving to ruffle his untidy black hair before he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Kind of ironic, isn't it? You denied it back then, but now… well, you know?"

"Now I'm dating you _and_ Draco," Hermione said with a slow nod, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. "The truth is I couldn't care less what your fans think. The only people whose opinions _do_ matter to me happen to be in this room."

"You're right," Harry agreed, and he reached up, capturing her chin between his forefinger and thumb, and gently pulled her attention back to him. "But you're always right, so that should be no surprise," he said with a wink. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

Hermione bit her bottom lip, the space between them slowly disappearing as Harry leaned down towards her. "I know I am," she teased, her breath ghosting across his lips. "You better remember that for future rows."

"I'll do my best," Harry whispered before he guided her mouth to his in a sweet kiss that made her heart thump and her magic pulse. His hand slipped into the side of her hair, slowly angling her head until his mouth could slant against hers. Just as the intoxicating taste of his kiss swept over her lips, the sharp sound of Draco clearing his throat pulled them apart.

"Really?" Draco questioned, his lips thinning disapprovingly. Despite his critical stare, a smolder in his eyes gave away his true feelings about the duo's snog. He tossed Harry his mobile as he tucked his own into the pocket of his pajama bottoms. "The least you could do is take it out of the room while I'm working."

"It wasn't going anywhere." Harry stood from the couch, mirroring Draco and tucking his mobile away in his own pocket before he held out his hand towards the wizard in a silent invitation. "But if you'd rather we leave, we can…"

"No, of course I don't want you to leave," Draco said with a roll of his eyes as if Harry's suggestion was the stupidest thing he'd heard all morning. His long arms crossed over his chest as he pursed his lips at Harry in disapproval. It wasn't until Hermione scooted over on the couch and patted the middle cushion that he finally moved, purposefully avoiding Harry's hand as he edged to the couch and stole the space between them.

"Can I help at all?" Hermione questioned, curling her legs underneath her as she scooted closer toward Draco, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his brow. He was stressed—that much was obvious based on his clipped tone and juvenile reaction to Harry—but the level that his anxiety rose to was something she could feel more than see. He was on edge about the whole situation, going public, dealing with the Ministry, and the papers. He was trying to do it all for them, as if the responsibility to handling it was his alone.

Draco shook his head, trying his best to ignore the buzz from his mobile that had once again come to life in his pocket. "No. I've got it… I just need a moment," he explained as his eyes drifted closed. He tipped his head back on the couch, the hair on the back of his head sticking up in comical attention.

Hermione could feel his magic brush against her, beckoning hers to twist and roll with his the way it had numerous times before. She was only happy to oblige, letting her magical essence bleed into his and calling out for Harry's to join them until they had once more created that powerful energy that they had come to crave. The feeling of completion that came with being together was more addicting than any drug she had taken. It wasn't just about the sex, although that was obviously part of their relationship she was unwilling to part with. It was this feeling they created by simply being together. This jumble of magic that melded together created a force that healed their wounds, strengthened their resolve, and calmed the wild that roared within their souls. This magic made them all complete.

"We can help, you know?" Harry's baritone broke the silence, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of blond hair off of Draco's forehead, gently pushing it back into place. When Draco just made a noise of disbelief, Harry shook his head. "I know you have this whole issue with giving up control, but honestly, it might help if we take over some small bit of this."

"Right, because you know how to field reporters' questions?" Draco cracked open an eye to glance at Harry.

"As a matter of fact—" Harry began, but Hermione paid no mind to the little spat that began to unravel between her boyfriends, for at that very moment across the sitting room, a lavender coloured letter flew down the chimney and floated towards her.

Her brow knit as she watched the letter flutter across the room and land on the coffee table like a wayward leaf. Leaning forward, she slid the letter across the table with her fingertips until she could pluck it up, and as she turned it over to read the address, she felt the blood rush from her face, and her mouth instantly dried.

She would recognize the blocky script anywhere. The way the jagged letters crammed together on the page, a piss poor excuse for penmanship, could only belong to one person in particular, aman she had not heard from in months.

Her hands trembled as she tore open the letter, and soon the sound of Harry and Draco's bickering was hidden under the deafening pounding of her heartbeat. The parchment felt like sandpaper under her fingertips, rough and unforgiving as she unfolded the letter. Almost instantly, she felt a familiar rush of panic bubble up inside her, its inky black tendrils wrapping around every ounce of happiness within her until all she could feel was gut-wrenching anxiety.

 _Hermione,_

 _To say I was surprised to see you staring at me from my morning edition would be an understatement. You look well—although you've always managed to look striking, especially on your knees. But I'm sure Potter and Malfoy already know that, don't they? You little minx, I always knew you liked things a little wild, but two wizards? Clearly I would have never been enough for you if your taste for cock lands in the range of multiples. I don't make a habit of sharing my witches. Although, I might have considered if you had just asked me nicely._

 _Be my good girl and let Malfoy know that the price of my silence is much larger now that I know you both have Harry's fortune to tap into. I expect double of what he gave me already by the end of the week, or else I might just run to Skeeter to give her my version of our_ _tragic_ _love story. After all, she's always been such a big fan of yours, hasn't she?_

 _~ Charlie_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Any mistakes in this are my own. 3 Thanks to Ravenslight for the expert beta service. She is not only amazing as catching my endless mistakes, but she is a super gifted writer. Make sure you check out her fic, Queen of Swords.

Thank you for all the reviews, subscribes, kudos, etc. I am happy to announce that this story is completely pre-written. -dance- Never fear, my lovely readers, I am already working on my next adventure! 3

Until next time. xx


	24. Problems over Pie

"To hell with the Aurors! I'm going to fucking hex him."

"Draco, be bloody reasonable! You can't just go confront him, wand at the ready."

"The fuck I can't!"

Hermione could hear her boyfriends argue as she sat on the couch, and she curled her arms tightly around her legs, pulling her knees under her chin as she tried to push aside the creeping darkness that threatened to consume her. She knew Charlie's disappearance had been too good to be true. It had happened too quickly, been too bloody perfect, to be anything but a fluke. And now that she had happiness— _true_ happiness—in her life, the red-headed dragon of a wizard threatened to take it all away.

She couldn't help but feel unworthy of Harry and Draco's love, as the mere mention of the drug dealer sent her spiraling back towards the deep depression that had consumed her for years. She wasn't worth the effort or the time they had devoted towards her. She would always be tarnished, her background mixed with society's darkest and most depraved that were clearly never going to leave her alone. No matter how much good she did, her past would always darken her future.

"I'll have him arrested, but only after I make sure he knows he can't bloody get away with threatening her, threatening _us_ ," Draco snapped from where he paced in front of the fireplace, the letter curled in his fist, its edges tearing under the pressure.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses as he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm admittedly one who would condone violence in these types of situations, but we have to be careful how we approach this, Draco," Harry pointed out crisply, his lips thinning as he dropped his hand unceremoniously to his side. Glancing over his shoulder to the couch, Harry's face visibly sagged as he looked at Hermione, who was still balled up on the couch, holding tightly onto her legs as if they would anchor her to reality.

He moved around the coffee table, careful to avoid bumping the furniture as he moved beside her and sunk down onto the couch. Without a word, his arms wrapped around her petite frame, and he pulled her onto his lap. With a gentle, yet firm grip, he peeled her arms from around her legs and held her bridal style against his chest, enveloping the witch in a strong hold that he had learned over the last several months would ease her.

Hermione pressed her face against his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat tattoo against her cheek as she closed her eyes. Her magic was retreating from the room and her two boyfriends and coalescing back inside her as she sought to shelter herself from the outside world. Afraid that if she let her magic frolic and play with Harry and Draco's magic like she had become used to, she would mourn the loss of them more when they inevitable left her because of this development.

Inhaling deeply, her eyes drifted closed as Harry's scent filled her senses, the musky cologne that covered every stitch of his skin: bergamot and campfire. His aroma ushered in a temporary calm that her soul clung to like a drug.

"Reasonable? Careful? Circe's tit, Potter, this isn't bloody wizard's chess! He's threatening our girlfriend!" Draco snapped, silver eyes swirling in fury as he looked across the room at his partners on the couch. "I already gave the cunt twelve thousand Dragot, and now he's demanding more. Why? Because he saw the bloody _Proph_ —"

"What?" Hermione's head lifted off Harry's chest in a flash, and her eyes widened as she looked across the room. "You paid him?!"

"Of course I fucking did." Draco waved his hand dismissively, his nose wrinkling as he shook his head, causing a tumble of blond fringe to fall across his forehead and hid the thick wrinkles his anger wrought. "Scum like Weasley don't just disappear because you stopped responding, Granger. He had to have incentive to leave you the fuck alone. Apparently coin wasn't enough, and he needs to meet the end of my bloody wand to realise—"

"Twelve _thousand_ Dragot?" Hermione pushed against Harry's chest and slipped back onto the couch. She had to have heard that wrong. That was… that was a _lot_ of money. Her mind whirled to perform the conversion rate multiple times, unable to believe Draco would spend that much but each time the maths came out the same. "That's nearly eleven thousand Galleons!"

"And?"

"And? _And?!"_ Her pitch grew shrill as she pushed off the couch, ignoring that Harry seemed to sink out of the way, hiding from her wrath as she stalked towards her blond boyfriend. "You paid Charlie fucking Weasley eleven thousand Galleons? Are you fucking mad?!"

"What?" Draco's brows lifted in disbelief as he looked down at her, his upper lip twitching to refrain from sneering. "Of course I'm bloody not. I paid him off so he would leave you alone. To give you a fair chance at recovery."

"You shouldn't have given him one bloody knut!"

"My plan clearly worked; he left you alone."

" _Until now_! Look, just because you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and you clearly don't understand the value of money—"

"Don't understand the value? I've earned every bloody Galleon in my vaults myself. I knew damn well how much money it was when I agreed to his terms, but I did it for _you!"_

"I never asked you to!"

"Stop it!" Harry stood quickly from the couch, his words echoing off the walls around them in a resounding clap of magic that pierced the tension between his lovers. His emerald eyes were wide with a maelstrom of anger and worry.

Charlie's letter had a much deeper affect than just gutting Hermione. It so clearly brought out emotions in every member of the triad, causing a rift in their foundation that scared Harry. He'd just gotten them both—he would be damned if he was going to lose them over someone like Charlie Weasley.

"You two need to just… stop," he said, his tone dropping as he moved to ruffle his hair, his fingers pinching the untidy locks to peaks as he moved around the table, his lips pursing. "Hermione, Draco didn't pay him alone. He used my money… and I agree with him; it was the right thing to do. We did it because it was the only option to get you out."

Hermione stood silently, her hands trembling at her sides as Harry moved to stand between his warring lovers. His looked between the pair, his breath hitching in his throat. "Merlin, 'Mione, don't you get it? We would have given him anything he wanted just to get you out. We didn't know what this was back then, but the feeling was the same. I would have given him all of the gold in my vaults if it meant he left you the hell alone."

"Harry..." Hermione's voice cracked as she spoke, her sorrow dripping through her hardened exterior. "Charlie won't go away, not for all the gold in England. Now that you've given him some, he'll come back asking for more."

"Not if he's under arrest, he won't," Draco said smartly, his arms crossing over his chest, messy hair still spread across his forehead in a disheveled manner that made his snark seem boyish.

"And once he's released, then what?" Hermione questioned, looking past Harry to Draco with a cock of her head. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, trying to prevent either of them from noticing the quiver. "He's not the same Charlie we knew growing up. He's… different. He's ruthless...and cold. He doesn't care what anyone has to say except for maybe his mum. But even then—"

"That's it!" Harry said quickly as the light bulb flickered to life inside his brain. Of course! How had he not thought of this before? "I know how we can make him stop."

"Unless it's a bloody cell in Azkaban or a permanent bat bogey hex, then I don't think we're going to agree on the best way to deal with him, Potter," Draco said, silver eyes tracking Harry as he rushed across the room to toe into his trainers that sat by the hearth.

"No." Harry laughed. The concern that had been written across his face was replaced with a disconcerting giddy smile. "No, but as far as Charlie is concerned, this is much worse." He crossed the room once more to Draco and pressed a kiss against the wizard's cheek before moving to Hermione to do the same.

"Wait, where are you going?" Draco said, his hands lifting at his sides as he watched Harry move to the fireplace and snatch up a handful of the emerald green powder from the clay pot. "Potter, where are you going? You said you had a bloody plan!"

"I'll be back soon. Just get ready to go out," Harry replied but didn't bother to look over his shoulder. Instead, he tossed the powder into the dying embers that crackled in the hearth. With a rush of wind, the sound of the Floo igniting could he heard before the green flames flickered to life. Once the fire travel was safe to enter, Harry stepped inside and turned to face his lovers, a small smirk dancing on his lips. "The Burrow!"

Hermione's brows nearly hit her hairline at his words. Oh bugger, of course! Her hand rose, pushing her curls back from her face as an incredulous laugh spilled from her lips, and she walked backwards until her calf hit the coffee table. "Fuck, that's brilliant," she murmured to herself as she sank down on the wooden furniture.

Draco's head moved between the now empty Floo and Hermione, his mouth gaping in confusion. "What the hell did he say? The Burrow?"

"Yeah."

"What the bloody hell is a Burrow?" Draco questioned as he moved closer to Hermione and claimed the spot on the coffee table beside her, his long legs kicked out as he planted his elbows on his thighs. His hands smoothed his blond fringe back as he hunched over.

Hermione snorted, glancing at her boyfriend from the corner of her eye. Of course he wouldn't know—why would he? It wasn't like every wizarding family knew the names of each other's homes, but, for whatever reason, the fact that Draco _didn't_ know was almost comical. She was positive books on the war contained the name; after all, it was used as the Order of the Phoenix's head quarters for a small period of time. "The Weasleys' house."

Draco lifted his head, his forehead wrinkling as he looked at Hermione, confusion evident across his pinched features. "Weasley? Which one? There's like twenty."

"There are only seven," Hermione corrected with a small roll of her eyes as she leaned back, her hands planting against the soft oak of the coffee table as she adjusted her seat to face Draco. "And it's Arthur and Molly's place."

"The parents?"

"Oh Merlin, you're utterly helpless." Hermione tsked. "Yes, Charlie's Mum and Dad."

* * *

 _Four hours Later..._

Hermione sat silently at the kitchen table in the Burrow. It was something she had done what felt like a million times before, but it had been years since she'd walked inside the patchwork quilt of a home. She looked around the room, her teeth gnawing a hole into the inside her bottom lip as she avoided Molly and Arthur's gaze from across the table.

The room was exactly how she remembered, from the grandfather clock that sat just outside the entrance containing the whereabouts of her children—but now also their spouses and the grandchildren—to the mismatched dishes that littered the countertop awaiting their turn to be magically washed in the sink. The home still smelled of freshly baked bread and cheese toasties, a scent that would forever warm her bones with a familiar comfort, even ten years later.

"Oh my stars." Molly gasped, flipping through the open folder, the magical photographs spread across the end of the table where she sat with Arthur. Her brown eyes were wide with horror as not only the hidden details of Charlie's business came to light, but more importantly, his appalling treatment of the girl that they still considered a family member. "Authur… I.. How could he?!"

"Don't look, Mollywobbles," the middle-aged wizard said as he stood up, sweeping his arms across the table in an attempt to gather the photographs so his wife wouldn't have to see any more of them.

"No, stop." Molly reached out and laid a hand on her husband's arm to cease his movement, and she gave him a firm shake of her head before she looked across the table at Hermione, who had had lowered her head and stared at her lap as she picked at her cuticles. "Hermione… why didn't you tell us? We would have helped you."

Hermione lifted her head, her lips pressed together, and she lifted her hands to splay them on the worn wooden table in front of her as she shifted in her seat nervously. Merlin, why hadn't she told them? The idea of running to them had felt so foreign when it all began, and eventually it had gotten to the point that she was so ashamed of her own behaviour that telling Molly and Arthur would have been implicating herself as a fuck up. And for as much self-loathing as she had gone through, she wasn't sure if she could have stomached seeing the looks of pity and disgust in Molly and Arthur's that would have been present if she'd told him.

"Molly, it was a bit more complicated than Hermione just coming over and telling you what was going on." Harry was the first to speak, and Hermione could not have been more thankful for that in the moment. Instinctively, she laid her hand on top of Harry's, her fingers slowly lacing with his and she gave it a gentle squeeze in thanks.

"You mean because of the drugs?" Arthur looked up, his hand trembling as he tapped a stack of photographs that Draco had clipped from the various periodicals Hermione had graced the tabloid pages of. Each photograph showed her in various states of disarray, but they all held one common theme. In every single one she was either drunk or high and so completely gone that she wasn't able to hold herself up anymore. "Hermione, our home was _always_ open to you, even… even then. We tried to reach out to you. I sent word with Ron often."

Hermione's head snapped towards Arthur, his words ringing in her ears as gears in her mind ground to a halt. _Sent word with Ron_. They'd reached out to her. They had cared. They hadn't ignored her for ten years. Ron lied. Of course he did. How fucking stupid could she had been?

"I… I didn't know," Hermione said softly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. "He never told me. He said…" Her voice trailed off as she felt tears well beneath her lower lids, threatening to spill down her cheeks, and she exhaled shakily as she tipped her head back to prevent gravity from pulling them from her.

"It's okay, love," Draco whispered, making sure to keep his voice low and light as he reached out to take her other hand.

"What did Ronald say?" Molly questioned. Hermione could hear hesitation in her voice, as if the witch was uncertain if she wanted to hear what her youngest son had done to harm her. But Ron's damage might have outweighed the years of trauma from Charlie simply because his treatment of her made her believe she really was worthless—that nobody cared.

"He said you didn't want to see me anymore," she said. The words were hard to speak even now, their impact still heavy on her heart as the memory of him telling her swam to the forefront of her mind. "That you, uh… you wanted nothing to do with me since we weren't dating. And you hated me for what I did to m-my mum and dad."

"Oh, Hermione." Molly's voice squeaked, and the sound of her chair scraping across the kitchen floor soon followed. Before she could process what was happening, Hermione found herself pulled into the witch's arms, her face pillowed against Molly's chest. Molly pet her hair in a way that Hermione hadn't experienced since her own mum had comforted her. The overwhelming scent of vanilla, flour, and earth filled her senses as she leaned into Molly's embrace, and she released her lovers' hands in favor of wrapping her arms around the witch's thick waist. Molly's voice reverberated through her as she spoke. "I'm so sorry he said that. That's the farthest from the truth… we've always loved you."

The dam broke. The tears she fought back splashed against Molly's yellow floral dress, and a cry ripped from her throat unbidden as she leaned into the woman who had been a mother figure to her for so long. "I'm sorry! I sh-should have come. I'm sorry," Hermione repeated, her fingers curling into Molly's dress as she clung to the witch for support and comfort.

For so long, she'd wondered what she had done to earn the ire of the Weasley matriarch. Their relationship had been close while Hermione attended Hogwarts. Much like the rest of her life, upon signing of the contract with the Ministry, there had been a harsh separation that happened immediately after the war—after things with Ron ended and Harry disappeared from her day-to-day life.

Hermione could hear movement behind her, the sound of chairs scraping and dishes rattling, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away from Molly's embrace. Not when it filled her with a familial warmth she had missed for the past decade.

"We'll figure this out, Hermione," Molly promised, her soft tone doing wonders for the sudden rush of overwhelming emotions that dragged hidden pain from the depths of Hermione's soul. Long repressed anger, grief, and confusion flit to the surface and disappeared with her cathartic cry. "We'll make this right."

"Molly's right," Arthur agreed as he placed a hand on her back, his warm touch radiating into her skin. "You're family. We take care of family in this house."

It felt like hours that she stood there, clinging to Molly as years' worth of abandonment, trauma, and guilt fled her system. By the time Hermione's tears ended, every ounce of makeup that she had carefully applied earlier this morning was smeared across her cheeks. Sniffling, she pulled back from the older witch, reaching up to brush her fingers across her cheeks as she attempted to wick away the moisture with an embarrassed flush of her cheeks. "Sorry."

"Nonsense," the middle-aged witch cooed, and she reached up to cup Hermione's cheek, patting it lightly with a smile that wrinkled the corner her eyes in a way that made Molly's warm demeanor seem more motherly than ever before. "A good cry is always allowed," she said matter of factly.

Hermione nodded and glanced over her shoulder to see where her partners were. Instead of sitting at the table where she'd left them, Harry and Draco had joined Arthur on the far side of the kitchen, wanting to provide the witches some space.

Harry stood between Arthur and Draco, his arm resting comfortably around the blond wizard's shoulders as he spoke in hushed tones with the older redhead, making no attempt to hide what Draco meant to him. Hermione's heart soared at the outward display of affection. Harry's unabashed attitude regarding their triad was the perfect balance to Draco's hesitation, and it made Hermione more keenly aware of just why they all needed each other.

Draco stood silent, his hands fidgeting inside his trouser pockets, likely rolling coins nervously between his fingers as he tended to do. His jaw was tense, the thick muscle bulging as he stared at the floor, just listening to the conversation. And as much as the wizard wanted to appear unaffected by his boyfriend's embrace, Hermione could make out the way he subtly leaned into Harry for support, allowing himself to be pulled tighter again his lover's side despite his embarrassment.

"You three will stay for lunch, won't you?" Molly questioned, pulling Hermione's attention away from her boyfriends, and she turned to face the witch.

"Uh… I don't see why not. I should probably check with—"

"Good!" Molly spoke over her, completely ignoring Hermione's words as she withdrew her wand from the pocket of her apron. "Because not only do we have ten years' worth of catching up to do—" The redheaded witch pointed toward the icebox, and with a practiced flourish of her wand, the door opened and a prepared casserole dish floated towards the already-warmed stove. "—but I want to hear all about this triad business I've read about in the papers. Not that I mind! I think it's absolutely splendid! Another triad, and in our own backyard! It's quite wonderful news, but I must say I'm a little surprised I didn't get to hear about it before it was announced in the _Daily_. Harry should have known better than to spring something like that without telling Arthur and I first. I raised him better."

Hermione watched the witch fuss about, her wand weaving through the air and directing their lunch to her upper oven to bake while she spelled dishes from the countertop to float across the room to the kitchen table. It was almost like watching a ballet. The synchronized dance of her household charms were performed with an ease that brought envy low to Hermione's belly. Molly could have likely done it without sight, she was so familiar and in tune with her magic having performed these spells countless times before. "Everything happened so fast. I don't think it was intentional."

"Oh, I know it wasn't, dear," Molly said with a flash of a smile before she turned her attention across the kitchen towards the upper stove. She twisted her wand, causing the dial that controlled the temperature to turn. "I'm just saying maybe next time you could pop on by for some tea and tell us before all of Britain knows."

"Yes, of course," Hermione agreed, a tingle of warmth tickling her heart as Molly turned to usher her back to the table. And just like that, Hermione found herself nestled into the safety of a familial magic that she had not felt in years. The signature was obviously Weasley—the way it bustled and badgered its way into her body the same way the clan did—but there was a calming presence that came with the wild. It could have been her connection to the family that created the calm, but she wagered to guess it was something more—a paternal connection to the magic that she had been missing since the moment she cast _Obliviate_ on her mum and dad.

"That's enough of that chit chat, boys. Come sit down," Molly commanded across the kitchen in a tone that brought a smile to Harry's lips but made Draco flinch, clearly not used to being spoken to by a headstrong, boisterous witch.

Harry's hand slid across Draco's shoulders and down his arm before he laced his fingers with the blond wizard's, and he tugged him across the room after giving a curt "Yes, ma'am." The pair passed Molly, Draco's eyes still looking anywhere but at the Weasley matriarch as they took their seats next to Hermione at the long, worn kitchen table.

Draco sat sandwiched between Hermione and Harry, and once settled, he reached underneath the table to lay his hand on her thigh. Hermione could feel his magic seep into her skin, brushing against and curling around her like a protective dragon seeking comfort.

"You okay?" Hermione whispered as she leaned closer to him, her hand slipping beneath the table to rest over his.

"Never better," He said, forcing the smallest smile on his lips.

"You know, I always figured you two would end up together," Arthur announced as he took his seat at the head of the table, his hand gesturing lazily between Harry and Hermione. "I told Molly that from the very beginning."

"Yes, yes. Quite the seer, this one," Molly dismissed with a playful tone.

"I never claimed to be! I could just see their connection is all," Arthur argued, and despite his defensive tone, his eyes sparkled happily at his wife.

Molly laughed, the tinkling reverberating off the shabby cabinets that clung magically to the walls. "Did you see this coming then?" Molly waved her free hand towards the group huddled on one side of the table, her brows lifted.

"Well… no," Arthur replied sheepishly, his fingers adjusting the wide brown buttons on his orange sweater. "I was rather flabbergasted when I opened the paper this morning. No offense."

"None taken," Harry replied for all of them. "We knew the news would catch people off guard, especially since Malfoy was so keen on pushing Hermione and I's relationship for a bit. Isn't that right?" Harry leaned in, nudging his boyfriend with his shoulder.

"Yes." Draco lifted his head, silver eyes landing on Arthur. "I was trying to—"

"Well, I, for one, support it, not that you need my blessing," Molly cut off Draco as she moved over to the table, and she picked up the morning edition of the _Daily_ that lay just before her husband. Unfurling the periodical, brown eyes looked critically down at the photo before moving up to Draco, and she assessed him, her lips pursing just slightly in thought before she set the paper down once more. The lower door of the oven opened with a wave of her wand, and a freshly baked pie floated over to the table. A long knife and spatula followed quickly behind.

Without asking, Molly directed her magic to cut a large piece from the pie, a wave of her wand sending it to land on the plate sitting directly in front of Draco. The warm berry filling spilled across the pristine white of the plate, its aroma filling the room. "Although, Draco, dear, you look far too thin. I know you've been busy helping Hermione, but that's no excuse not to stay healthy." Molly tutted from across the table as she moved to take her seat opposite of the trio. "I'll make sure to send your mother a word about it. I know I would want to know if any of my children were underfed."

Draco's eyes, wide as saucers, dropped to the pie, and he blinked slowly, his brain obviously stuck in a loop at the pushy hospitality of the situation. His shocked expression only elicited snickers from Harry and Hermione, who were, by now, used to the overbearing nature of Molly.

When he made no move to lift his fork, the crisp sound of Molly clearing her throat pulled the blond's attention back up to her once again. "Well, go on," Molly said expectantly. "You need to eat."

Her pushy insistence must have kick started Draco's brain because he quickly released Harry's hand to pick up his fork and took a small bit of the pie, not daring to argue. Laughter bubbled warmly in the room, and he glanced up at Hermione and Harry, fork still stuck between his lips as he narrowed his eyes.

Arthur leaned forward, reaching for the warm pie, and Molly's hand darted out to move the dessert further out from her spouse's reach with a quick shake of her head. "But Molly—"

"This is for the children, Arthur," Molly explained quickly, waving her wand to cut two large pieces and float them to both Harry's and Hermione's plates. "Better feed them while we can since _clearly_ Grimmauld Place is without proper sustenance."

Harry opened his mouth to correct her, but just as quickly as the idea moved into his mind, he realised the grave mistake it would be. Instead, he clamped his mouth closed after hastily murmuring his thanks and picked up his fork to tuck into his pie.

"It's never a problem, Harry." Molly beamed, clasping her hands together as she set her elbows on the table, using them to prop up her chin as she watched the group eat with maternal pride in her eyes. "So," she began with a heavy sigh, "Let's make a plan to correct Charlie's behaviour, shall we?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

One more chapter left folks! thank you for the reviews, kudos, likes, shares, and follows. All your kind words helped support this story so much. 3 until next time.


	25. To Closure & New Beginnings

Despite the sharp pain that radiated down her right thumb each time she picked at her cuticle, Hermione couldn't stop the nervous tick. While she knew the plan they were putting into motion had been laid with the best intentions and both of her boyfriends would stay with her the entire time, she couldn't help but fear seeing Charlie.

"Shite, 'Mione, you're bleeding,"

Harry's voice pulled her from the abyss of dread she'd worked herself into the moment Draco left the room to meet Charlie outside. Glancing down at her trembling fingers, she nearly gasped at the smear of red that coated nearly every fingertip. Droplets of red formed on her nail bed. "Oh."

Harry withdrew his wand and directed a quick _Scourgify_ at her hands, the tickle of the cleaning spell sending chills up her arms. "You don't have to do this," Harry said as he reached out and pulled her bleeding hand into his lap to get a better angle at the tiny cut on her cuticle bed. "If this is too much, Draco and I can do it alone."

"No, I need to be here," Hermione said, but she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, Harry or herself. Realistically, she knew this would provide some much needed closure on that chapter of her life—hell, it might even take away some of her anxiety about abandonment and failure. But it was so hard to think logically when her body screamed for her to run. "He won't stay if I'm not."

Harry brought her hand to his lips, and she could feel his magic slip against hers, trying to fill the void where Draco's typically lay. "We won't let him do anything to you; you know that, right?" Harry questioned, his lips ghosting across her knuckles as he spoke. "And we won't leave. Not now. Not ever."

"I know."

"Good."

Hermione squeezed his fingers gently before she withdrew her hand from his grasp, her tongue running across her lips as she settled back against the couch. She allowed her eyes to drift close, letting her thoughts return to the day before. Merlin, what she wouldn't give to go back just twenty-four hours. Her mind had been free of darkness, as the trio had spent the day in their bedroom, Draco and Harry worshipping her body in ways she hadn't even begun to believe possible. Their love and devotion for her poured into every touch and kiss they showered her with.

They calmed the wild uncertainty within her soul and secured their bond, spending the day reinforcing not only their triad magic, but also their emotional connection with one another. The ache between her thighs was still present, a pleasant reminder of what occurred the day before. It longed to take her back upstairs where she could strip under the covers and hide from the darkness that still threatened to bring her down.

Just when she began to relax, the feeling of Harry's magic and memories of their night allowing the worry to ebb from her soul, the sound of the front door opening pulled her back to the reality at hand. Hermione's eyes snapped open, and her entire body stiffened in preparation for facing a wizard she longed to never see again.

Her heartbeat thumped in time with the incoming footsteps. The metal clasps on Charlie's boots jingled, providing the perfect marker to gage his approach. She could feel her face fall, her eyes widening as she looked to the entryway, listening to her demon grow closer until he was just outside the sitting room. Involuntarily her breath caught in her throat in anticipation.

"Nice flat, Harry," Charlie said as he sauntered into the room with a casual ease that made her skin crawl. He looked just as he always did: long red hair brushed his shoulders, the sides held back in tight braids. His eyes were dark, the blue-black circles a clear indication he had slept poorly the night before. But, to be fair, Hermione hadn't seen him without bags under his eyes for years at this point, so this meeting today was hardly likely to be the cause of his poor sleep . "I hardly recognize the place."

Harry rose from the couch and side stepped around the table towards Charlie, the muscle in his jaw bulging as he grit his teeth to hold back a snarky reply. "Thanks," he forced as he stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his denim trousers. "No bodyguard today?"

"No," Charlie said with a wrinkle of his nose as he shook his head. "Didn't think it was needed—after all, we're family right?"

"I requested he stay outside." Draco's voice cut crisply across the room as he moved in behind Charlie. His arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping impatiently against his elbow as he eyed the redhead with his lips lifted in a sneer.

"Anyway," Charlie said with a dismissive wave of his hand towards Draco, purposefully trying to ignore the blond wizard as he angled his back towards him. "Where is— oh, there you are!" Charlie's eyes brightened, the cocky smile on his face slowly spreading into a lecherous grin as he tried to step around Harry to close in on Hermione.

She fought the urge to run, ignoring the primal instinct to flee and never look back. Her hands curled into fists against the couch cushion, and she bit the inside of her cheek as the wizard began towards her, but before Charlie could get any further than two steps, she watched as Harry took ahold of Charlie's shoulder and pulled him back.

"Don't, Charlie," Harry commanded, his tone indicating that this was not up for discussion.

Draco moved, his loafers snapping against the wood floor as he put himself between her and Charlie, and she could feel Draco's magic wrap around her while Harry's swirled to envelope the both of them.

"Whoa!" Charlie rolled his shoulder to free himself from Harry's grasp, and he lifted his hands in mock surrender as he took a step back from Hermione's protective boyfriends with a bitter laugh. "Merlin's cock, I was just saying hello," Charlie murmured, blue eyes flashing between the wizards to catch her gaze. "Your cunt must really be magic if this is the type of reaction I get for a friendly greeting."

Even sitting behind Draco, Hermione noticed the distinct twitch in his wand hand as he clearly fought the urge to use magic to put the older wizard in his place. She knew this was going to be hard for her, but she had clearly underestimated the effect that Charlie's presence would have on her partners. "Shut the hell up, Weasley," Draco snapped.

"For an expert negotiator, you're doing a pretty poor job, Malfoy."

"That's enough, Charlie," Harry interrupted. His hand went to rest on Draco's forearm, and he gave him a gentle push backwards before he nodded his head towards the couch, silently indicating that he should take a seat.

"You're right. My apologizes _Chosen One_." Charlie spun on his heel and moved to the single wingback chair that sat in front of the fireplace. He lowered himself into the seat before turning his body so his back pressed against the arm and his legs hung lazily over the side. "Let's get this over with, shall we? I've got a busy day ahead. People to see… Galleons to collect."

Draco begrudgingly claimed his spot to Hermione's right, and as soon as he sat down, she reached to take his hand, lacing their fingers together. She knew the gesture was not just for her benefit, but for his as well. She could sense the unease roiling off him, the tension in his magic pulsating against hers.

"So where is it?" Charlie questioned, glancing around the room curiously, his lengthy red hair to swaying with each turn of his head.

Hermione watched his eyes flit across the room, searching for the requested money, but when they didn't land on any indication the trio had followed through with his request, she could see his hackles begin to rise. The happy-go-lucky persona the wizard wore as a mask began to crack, and the hints of the monster that lay within began to float to the surface.

Harry cleared his throat, his hand lifting to ruffle the hair on the back of his head. "About that… well, we actually wanted to have a quick chat fir—"

"A chat? A bloody chat?" Charlie snapped before he swung his boots to the floor with a loud thunk, his eyes aflame. "This isn't bloody a friendly visit, Harry. I'm here to collect fucking coin."

Hermione flinched, her hand squeezing Draco's as she watched Charlie rise from the chair, his chest puffed out as he approached Harry, all hope of this visit happening cordially completely disappeared by his manic change in demeanor.

"I understand, but—"

"No, you clearly don',." Charlie growled, his hands curled into fists at his side as he stood toe to toe with Harry, who rose to the challenge. "Because if you did, you would have the payment ready."

"Charlie, just calm down," Hermione spoke up, trying her best to steel her voice as she scooted forward on the couch. "We just want to talk for a moment."

Charlie's head snapped in her direction, and the hollow laugh that tore from his throat made goosebumps run up her arms. She'd heard it too many times before to not know exactly what it meant. He was close to losing control. "Who the bloody hell are you to tell me to calm down? Now that you've latched onto not one but _two_ bloody wizards you think you have a say in this?"

"Watch it, Weasley," Draco growled, his nostrils flaring.

"Or you'll do what exactly? Call the Aurors? I'm sure they'd love to hear from a bloody Death Eater."

"Charlie!"

"You know what? This meeting is officially over. Consider my offer off the fucking table," Charlie snapped, tossing his hands in the air as he began to walk backwards. "I'm going to see Rita. Soon the whole world is going to know what kind of cock hungry whore you are, Hermione. This good girl image you're trying to pull isn't fooling anyone."

"Charles Septimus Weasley!"

The shrill shriek filled the room, and the thundering sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway froze Charlie in his tracks. The fire that had burned so brightly in his eyes mere seconds ago suddenly vanished, and a look of pure unadulterated fear flooded his system. He turned on his heel, red hair swaying with the movement and slapping his cheek as he watched his mother burst into the sitting room.

Molly's amber eyes were narrowed on her son, her mouth pursed so tightly that one could barely see the pink in her lips. Her voluminous red curls smoked with magic as she marched into the room, her index finger pointed at her second-born son. "How dare you speak to _anyone_ in that manner, let alone Hermione!"

Hot on her heels, the rest of her brood followed. Bill and Ginny led the charge, each with their wand in hand and ready to assist magically if need be, while Percy, Arthur, and George lingered back, watching the fray unfold cautiously.

Charlie balked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate words before he turned to look at Hermione, his nostrils flaring. "You— you told my parents?!" he said in disbelief.

"Of course she did!" Ginny quipped. "Someone had to bloody tell us what you were up to."

"Oh fuck off, Gin,'" Charlie barked as he turned to look at his sister, his upper lip pulled back in a snarl. "This has nothing to do with any of yo—" His voice cut off in a loud yelp of pain when Molly suddenly advanced on him and grabbed his ear, her fingers latching onto the gold hoops that ran the length of his cartilage, and she pulled him down until he was bent at the waist to be face to face with her.

"You watch your tone, Charles. You might be an adult, but I am still your mother and will not tolerate any sort of disrespect towards your sister or any other witch for that matter!" Molly told him sternly, the smoke of her uncontrolled magic literally rolling off of her in thick white clouds. "Your father and I are appalled by your behavior!"

Harry backed up, quickly moving out of the way of the altercation, and he rounded the coffee table to stand just to the side of Hermione. His hand went down to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips brushing her curls as he watched Molly berate her son, the corner of his lips pulled up in the tiniest smirk.

"We raised you better!"

"What kind of idiot are you, Charlie?"

"How could you do that to _Hermione_?!"

"Yeah, she's like our bloody sister!"

One by one, the Weasleys backed their mother from where they stood around the room, the tension building until Charlie finally had enough, and he wrestled himself free from his mother's tight hold.

"Back the fuck off!" he snarled, shoving her hand away as he stood up to his full height. "None of you have any bloody right to tell me off!" he shouted as he backed away like a wounded animal, moving towards the fireplace until Bill cut him off. "This… this is your fucking fault." Charlie turned sharply, directing his gaze to Hermione, Draco, and Harry. "None of this would have happened if you'd just brought me the bloody money like I asked."

"Or how about none of this would have happened if you weren't a right prick, Charlie?" Bill said with a slam of his fist on the mantle, the clay Floo pot rattling in response. "What the bloody hell have you been thinking?"

"Bill's right, Charlie," Arthur spoke up, his brow furrowed and his cornflower blue eyes shining in a subtle sadness as he looked at his second-born son. "I don't even recognize you anymore. I can't believe you'd do that to Hermione, but selling… selling drugs? I'm so disappointed—"

"Disappointed? _Disappointed?!_ " Charlie repeated, eyes rolling in disbelief before he tipped his head back in a deafening, hollow laugh. "You weren't bloody disappointed when I sent you to Aruba last holiday. You weren't _disappointed_ when I bought Mum that new oven and you that Muggle car. How the bloody hell did you think I could afford all that on a pension, Dad?!"

"We… we didn't know!"

"You didn't _want_ to know! You didn't ask bloody questions because you had your heads buried in the fucking sand so far that you could ignore the obvious signs!" Charlie shouted, his hands fisting at his side as he set his jaw, his nostrils flaring at his father.

"What signs, Charlie?" Ginny took a half step forward. "You haven't been at a family dinner in ages. We hardly see you, so please tell us how we would have known you were a bloody drug dealer and taking advantage of—"

"Taking advantage?! _Ha_! Hermione willingly gave herself to me!" Charlie said, throwing his arm to point at her. "All I had to do was offer my product, and she was on her bloody knees ready to—"

"Charles!" Molly gasped.

"Oh, _what_? Can't stand to hear about how your precious little adoptee is a trollop?" Charlie laughed, shooting a hard look at Hermione on the couch before he turned his attention back to his parents. "If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. I just capitalized on an opportunity that none of you were willing to take. I never _wanted_ to sell Dragon's Breath, but fuck if the opportunity wasn't the best bloody thing I've ever done. And don't try to feed me some fucking line on how unethical my business is because I don't bloody care."

"Charlie, you could have come to help me in the shop." George spoke for the first time, worry lines deep in his forehead. "I would have helped you if it was money you needed."

"George, I make triple what your pathetic little joke shop makes in a single month." Charlie rolled his eyes, his nose wrinkling as he gave his little brother a firm shake of his head. "None of you can see it—the brilliance in my business. You're all weak and useless. scared to take risks. Don't you understand? I wasn't satisfied riding The Boy Who Lived's coattails any longer. I needed _more._ "

The world felt like it moved in slow motion as Hermione watched the a muscle in George' jaw flex, and the wizard ground his molars together watching Charlie pace the small space in the middle of the room like a caged animal. And then, as if he could no longer take the manic wizard's verbal abuse and excuses, George pushed past his father and delivered a swift right hook to Charlie's jaw, sending the drug dealer stumbling back under the impact.

A collective gasp echoed around the room, everyone frozen, stuck waiting to see how Charlie would react. Charlie lifted his hand to his mouth, and when his fingers came away from the tender area smeared with blood, it seemed to be the final straw. He lunged at George's midsection, pushing his little brother back into the wall and knocking picture frames to the ground as he began to drop punches on his brother's abdomen.

Bill was the first to react, moving over to the tussling wizards and joining in the fray. His wand was long forgotten, seemingly set on handling this the Muggle way. Ginny stepped back, moving to wrap her arms around Molly, who had turned from furious to crying the moment she saw her children—her _babies_ —physically trying to hurt each other.

Harry lept off the couch to join in, trying his best to wrestle the flailing Charlie to the floor so they could subdue him while also avoiding swinging fists and elbows. Harry managed to lock his arms around the Charlie's waist and haul him back off George, but just as he took a step back, he lost his footing and tripped backward on his rug, taking the group of Weasleys down with him.

Hermione's brows went to her hairline, and she lurched forward to peer over the coffee table at the mountain of Weasleys and Harry sprawled across her carpet—all of whom were still fighting. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco fumble for his wand, finally pulled from the daze of watching the fight, but before he could wrap his hands around its wooden length, a burst of white light caught their attention on the far side of the room.

"That is quite enough!" Percy said, his tenor shaking as he cast another spell. Magicked red ropes shot across the room and wrapped around Charlie, who was the first to find his legs.

"What the fuck?!" Charlie stumbled as his legs bound together and his arms snapped to his side under the tight pressure of the rope. He tried to waddle forward to prevent his fall, but his legs couldn't keep up with the momentum, and he crashed to the rug once more. His head bounced off the floor with a sickening crack that made nearly everyone in the room gasp.

It took a moment, but the stunned Charlie finally let out a loud groan that was soon followed by a threat. "I'm going to fucking kill you, Percy!"

"Yes, yes. You can try after you meet with the Aurors." Percy said dismissively as he moved closer to his bound brother to level his wand at him properly.

"Aurors?" Bill questioned, wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his hand.

"Yes, Aurors. He _is_ under arrest, who else would I turn him into?"

"Wait a minute. You can't bloody arrest me!" Charlie shouted from the floor, craning his head up to try and catch a glimpse of the bureaucratic Weasley.

"Do you even have the authority to arrest someone, Perce?" Ginny questioned, passing off the weepy Molly to her father. "You don't even work for the DMLE."

"I am the Minister of Magic's assistant; of course I can arrest someone!" Percy rushed out, his cheek taking on a slight crimson hue as he twisted his wand between his fingertips nervously. "Besides, Citizen's Arrest is a by-law. Haven't any of you read the Lawful Magic Decree of 1721?"

"Oh yeah, Perce." George drawled with a roll of his eyes his hand pinching his nose to stop the flow of blood, causing his voice to sound more nasally than usual. "Of course I've read it; it's my bloody favorite Ministry Decree."

"Really?" Percy's turned around to face George with rapid enthusiasm building in his eyes. "Because I am more a Magical Misuse Decree of 1489 wizard, myself."

"Oh, would you shut the bloody fuck up, already? He's fucking with you, you utter twit!" Charlie growled, rocking his body until he rolled onto his back, his arms twisted painfully at his sides.

Percy bristled, his lips pursing as he looked down at Charlie, and with a quick flick of his wrist Charlie's mouth sealed shut. "That should do until we get him through processing," he mumbled before casting a quick levitation charm that hoisted his brother off the floor.

Charlie struggled against his restraints, his body twisting and thrashing mid-air, and although Hermione couldn't be certain, she was fairly positive she could hear him screaming promises of bodily harm from behind his sealed lips.

And as she sat on the couch, watching the man who had tormented her for years float across the living room like a rag doll, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She had spent so long thinking she was utterly alone in the world, the after effects of the war lingering deep in her soul, but she had been wrong. So terribly wrong. The Weasleys still loved her—all except for Ron and Charlie, of course—and they were willing to literally fist fight to defend her. Harry, although absent, had still thought fondly of her during those ten harrowing years.

And now, she was on the other side of them. Sober and truly awake for the first time since the end of the war, she wasn't going to allow herself to become a victim anymore. She was stronger than those vices and had more worth than Ron, Charlie, or any other person who doubted her ability gave her credit for.

"Harry, would you mind terribly if I used your Floo?" Percy questioned as he approached the hearth.

Harry shook his head. "Not at all," he said with a sweeping gesture towards his fireplace. "Do you need help?"

"No, Harry. We've got this," Arthur said, still cradling his distraught wife against his chest.

"Are you sure? I don't mind popping down to the Ministry with you."

"You've done enough. This is the least we can handle after what he's done to Hermione," Bill chimed in, walking up beside Harry, and he clasped his hand on the wizard's shoulder, offering him a small smile before he looked over to the couch at Draco. "You'll keep her safe?"

Draco rose from the couch, his hand slipping from Hermione's, and he placed it gently on her upper back, his fingers winding into her curls. "Absolutely."

"Good, because now there's no excuse to miss Wednesday dinners," Ginny chimed in. "If I have to sit through the famous two-hour Molly Weasley interrogation sessions, you lot have to, too. And you don't get out of it either, Ferret," she said with a playful wink before snatching a handful of emerald powder and throwing it into the fireplace.

The rushing sound of the Floo activating chimed, and Ginny was the first to slip into the flames, offering a wave as she called out "Ministry of Magic." Harry, Hermione, and Draco watched as the Weasleys took their leave one by one until Draco, Hermione and Harry were once again alone in the living room.

Hermione rose from the couch to pick up a broken picture frame, the tremble that had plagued her since waking up finally gone. She brushed the loose glass from the photograph—an aged photo of Harry, Ron, and Hermione at Hogwarts. She turned around to ask Harry what he wanted her to do with the photograph but was greeted by the image of her boyfriends embracing.

Harry's arms were wrapped around Draco's shoulders, their foreheads pressed together as Draco held Harry about his waist. She couldn't make out what they were whispering from her distance, but she had a funny feeling it had to do with what just occurred in their home. And for the first time, she wasn't worried about what was to come. She wasn't worried about Charlie's inevitable release, or even if he did go to the papers with their story, because at the end of the day, none of it mattered as long as she got to have those two by her side.

* * *

 _Ten Months Later…_

Morning light splashed across the soft skin of her midriff as Hermione stretched her arms above her head, her toes pointing towards the foot of the bed. The analog clock on Harry's nightstand told her it was nearly ten in the morning, which was the only reason she was finally rousing from her sleep. As much as she would have liked, she couldn't very well sleep the entire day away. Not when she still had so much work to get through if the St. Mungo's addition was going to go off without a hitch.

Slipping from beneath the covers, she pulled down the pair of black and gray plaid boxers that she'd snagged the night before from Harry's dresser, making sure they sat low on her hips as she moved across the room. She plucked a Draco's discarded jumper off a wooden chair that typically held Draco's briefcase and pulled on the soft cashmere sweater on as she moved out of the bedroom in search of her boyfriends.

Upon exiting their room, the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla greeted her. It was immediately familiar and took her back to being a young girl in her gran's home—cinnamon rolls. A wide smile slipped across her lips as she began down the stairs two at a time toward the basement kitchen, her stomach already rumbling in anticipation. She hadn't had a homemade cinnamon roll in ages, and it had been a number of months since she visited that little shop on Canterbury Row that made them so well.

Grimmauld Place had taken on a vastly different look now that the triad called it home. Long gone were impersonal photographs and stifling artwork that had littered the walls. In their place were snapshots of their life together. Images of Hermione sitting with Narcissa in Malfoy Manor sat nestled next to ones of Harry and Draco dressed from head to toe in Falmouth Falcon's gear sharing a post-victory kiss in a crowded stand. Grimmauld Place was no longer just a place for Harry to hang his hat at the end of a long week. It was a home.

As she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, the sweet cinnamon aroma masked the normally clean scent of the kitchen. Her morning greeting balanced on the tip of her tongue, ready to express her enthusiasm over their breakfast choice, but as she caught sight of the pair, the words vanished.

At the end of the long kitchen table stood her boyfriend—or rather, stood Draco—as Harry was currently perched on the edge of the table, his legs wrapped around the blond wizard's waist as the two shared stolen kisses. Both wizards were covered in bits of flour and cinnamon, their aprons long forgotten on the floor, and Draco's hands seemed to be mid-journey across Harry's thighs towards his cock.

An immediate flush came across her cheeks, and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she debated letting them know she was awake or just staying and watching it all unfold. Her magic clearly had a decision, for before she could stop it, she felt it reach across the kitchen towards where Harry's and Draco's tangled, She felt her magic slip between theirs, calling to them to include her in their little game.

Draco broke their snog by nipping at Harry's lip. Lifting his head to peer over the top of his boyfriend's, Draco slowly ran his tongue across his bottom lip. The purely primal look sent a jolt of energy from her heart radiating down to the apex of her thighs. "Good morning, Granger."

Harry craned his neck to look over his shoulder, the lopsided smile only accentuated by the kiss-swollen sting to his lips. "You're up!" he said cheerfully before turning to face Draco once more. Straightening his spine, he peppered three kisses along the blond's jaw before gently pushing Draco away, and he hopped down to the floor.

"Bed got lonely," Hermione teased before she began across the kitchen towards her boyfriends. Going to Harry first, she leaned up to press a chaste kiss on his cheek before she turned to do the same to Draco. Just as she entered his orbit, the blond's arms enveloped her waist, and he dragged her body against his so she could feel the evidence of his desire thick and hot against her stomach.

"We can remedy that, love," Draco purred in her ear as his hands brushed across her lower back beneath the jumper.

Hermione shivered, leaning into his embrace for just a moment before she shook her head. "As tempting as that sounds, I wouldn't want you to burn what you're baking," she said as she stroked her hands across his flour coated pecs.

"Oh shit!" Harry's voice cut across the room with sudden alarm at her mention of baking, and he darted across the kitchen, navy boxer briefs hugging his arse in a way that should be illegal as he bent low to check the oven. "Godric's gold, Draco. You nearly made me forget," Harry scolded as he grabbed a snitch-shaped pot holder from the countertop, and he withdrew a large pan of cinnamon rolls.

Draco released Hermione with a laugh as he turned to settle back on the table with a lazy cross-legged lean. "Not my fault. Your arse looks good in those; I couldn't help it," Draco defended, his brows raising as his eyes dropped to Harry's pants once more.

"Down boy." Harry snapped his fingers to draw his boyfriend's attention before he pointed up towards his face, which only seemed to earn a laugh from both of his partners. "Today isn't about _you_. It's about Hermione, remember?"

"I could never forget," Draco said cooly as he reached up to push his blond fringe back. "I just happen to think we can celebrate her _and_ enjoy ourselves. You know how our little voyeur likes to watch."

Hermione's cheeks crimsoned despite the utter truth of his words. Watching them was easily one of her top five favorite things to do in the bedroom. Always as a precursor to her own pleasure though. Just seeing the way that they interacted and kissed… and fucked. Merlin only knew what it did to her. "Celebrate me? Why?" Hermione said after a quick clearing of her throat to rid herself of the lump that was beginning to form at the mere mention of watching her boys in the bedroom.

"Because it's been one year!" Harry said excitedly as he picked up a robin egg blue coloured mixing bowl. Using a soft sided spatula, he began to generously frost the rolls—all save for one, which he lightly coated for Draco, whose sweet tooth was not as consuming as his and Hermione's.

"Uh…" Her brow furrowed as she glanced between the wizards in confusion. Their anniversary was nearly two months away. That was something she was certain of because Draco had booked them all a trip to Ibiza to celebrate.

"Your sobriety, love," Draco supplied, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Oh… wow." Recognition flickered through her,, but it quickly morphed into shock. One year?! How had it already been a whole year? The truth was that the changing of the seasons should have been indicative of this momentous anniversary, but she was so wrapped up in her happiness that she hadn't lingered on the timeline of her sobriety.

Her world had changed so much since Draco and Harry came back into her life. It wasn't just their budding romance, but literally every aspect of her day-to-day life. She was no longer doing photoshoots and campaigning for her public image—s0mething she was so bloody happy to have stopped. Instead, she and Draco poured their efforts into developing addiction recovery services for wizards and witches within Britain. There was no established protocol within St. Mungo's for treatment, and unlike the Muggle world, there had not been private benefactors to help with this much-needed service, which was precisely why Draco was more than willing to financially support this cause when Hermione came up with the idea nearly four months ago while laying in bed late one night.

While the busy, day-to-day work of starting a therapy facility consumed Draco and Hermione, Harry had opted to take a much needed sabbatical from his Ministry work. Although, technically speaking, it was a lifelong sabbatical, though he had yet to inform Minister Shacklebolt of his intention to never return to the spotlight. Harry found a growing comfort in a slower way of life—instead of photo shoots and meetings with dignitaries, he found himself turning the tiny backyard into a thriving garden, having weekly luncheons with Molly, and enjoying tinkering with an old motorbike he'd found tucked in a dark corner of his outdoor shed.

A sharp tap on the kitchen window pulled her from her temporary surprise, and Hermione turned to see the _Daily Prophet_ delivery owl waiting impatiently on their kitchen window ledge. "I got it," she rushed out as she moved across the kitchen. Leaning on her tippy toes across the counter top, Hermione picked up two owl treats from the small painted dish before she opened the window to retrieve their periodical. Offering the treats in thanks, she untied the twine that bound the parchment to the owl's foot, and with a soft _hoot_ in thanks, the amber barn owl took flight.

"No _American Ghost_?" Draco called from across the room where he was filling up the kettle.

"Not yet." Hermione unrolled the _Daily_. Turning around so her lower back pressed into the wooden countertop, her eyes flickered across the paper, watching the magicked pictures of the Wizengamot and their latest installed member dance across the page with a small smirk. Theodore hadn't been her friend at Hogwarts, but since the triad's announcement, he was one of the first of Draco's former housemates to send his congratulations to the trio. Since then, the wizard had earned a soft spot in her heart—it also might have helped he sent the card along with an expensive box of chocolates.

Just as she moved to hand the paper over to Draco, a small byline at the bottom of the page caught her eye, and her brows knit. "What in the bloody hell?" Hermione mumbled, more to herself than her boyfriends as she opened the paper, skipping all of the articles until she found it. "Oh, Salazar's sack," she said with a shake of her head, an incredulous laugh slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

"What?" Harry questioned from where he was setting their cinnamon rolls on the table, emerald eyes peering over the top of his frames at her.

"Oh just more Prophet nonsense." Hermione closed the newspaper before folding it in half as she moved across the room. As she passed Draco's spot, she dropped it next to his fork and slipped around the table to sit in what had become her spot—directly across from the wizard.

"Oh? What now?" Draco drawled as he began to pour two cups of tea, still at the countertop. "More Weasel garbage? What's he doing now?"

"None of that—or rather, maybe there's something in there but I didn't read it," Hermione admitted as she sat down. "No, Kimberly Wimberly did a write up on our relationship."

"Well that doesn't sound too bad." Harry picked up his fork and cut off a big chuck of cinnamon roll, making sure to dip it in the excess icing before he popped it into his mouth.

Hermione snorted, shaking her head at Harry before she took her teacup from Draco with a silent thank you. "She was talking about our _future_ together."

"And?" Draco questioned as he set his cup down. Picking up the paper, he carefully unfolded it, silver eyes scanning the page curiously.

"And she is saying—verbatim— _are the tinkling sound of wedding bells in this triad's future? I do think so,_ " Hermione said, her voice lifting in a false saccharine that even sounded awful to her own ears.

Harry quickly swallowed down his mouthful of pastry, his tongue darting across his lips to remove any left-over sugar. Emerald eyes darted between Hermione and Draco, and there was a distinct stiffening to each of the wizard's spines that Hermione simply couldn't ignore. "You… uh… you don't want to get married?" Harry questioned, setting his fork prong side down on his plate.

"Well, I mean… sure, eventually." Marriage was something so bloody far off her radar that Hermione simply hadn't even given the prospect a thought. She didn't even know how it would work, truth be told. Were rtiad marriages legal in the wizarding world? Polyamory was still taboo in Muggle communities, and people who married multiple partners were arrested. "Honestly, I'm not even sure how a triad marriage would work, legally speaking. And I certainly don't want to marry just one of you. So if my only option is one, well, then I'd rather not do it at all."

Draco laid the paper beside his plate, and he took a slow sip from his mug, not even bothering to lift his eyes from where he was browsing the sporting section. "There is some pending regulation with the Wizengamot that might be of interest to you on this topic. Theo was kind enough to be the sponsor for the bill, and with funding from Malfoy Enterprises, I highly doubt it's going to fail."

"What kind of regulation?" Hermione questioned, her head cocking to the side as she glanced between Draco and Harry curiously.

"Triad marriages."

"W-what?!" Hermione coughed in surprise. Reaching for her teacup, she brought it to her mouth and quickly gulped down some of the warm liquid to cure the tickle in her throat. "When? How?"

"This had been going on for several months now, Granger. The bespeckled Weasel—"

"Percy," Harry corrected with an eye roll.

"Yeah, that one. He helped me author the change weeks ago. Didn't you ever wonder why I kept going to meetings with him?" Draco questioned, finally lifting his eyes to her as the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smirk.

"No, I just assumed it was about something else?" Hermione shrugged, her hand lifting in time with her shoulders.

"Like what? We don't exactly have the same interests." Draco replied with a dismissive lilt. "Regardless, the regulation is set to pass this winter and come into effect in March of next year. Which would be ideal for a spring wedding."

"Spring wedding..." Hermione repeated, her brows raised in shock, and she turned to look at Harry, whose expression matched her own. For as much as the wizard likely knew about what their boyfriend was up to, it was obvious this little tid-bit had been left out.

"Yes," Draco confirmed after another slow sip of tea. "As you both know, I look flawless in jewel tones; Granger, you can wear a nice cream; and Harry is passable in gold. Between my resources, Harry's vaults, and Mother's planning, I'd say we have plenty of time to make sure you've got the wedding of your dreams."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

And that was all she wrote, folks. Thank you so much for taking this journey with me and believing me when I said they would get a HEA. I am so amazed by each and every one of your reviews, kudos, likes, and shares on the facebook pages.

Massive mega thanks to Disenchantedglow, who helped me flesh out this story from start to finish. She was my sounding board when I got stuck, and encouraged me to keep writing.

HUGE thank you to Ravenslight, without her this story would literally have been unreadable. She is a world class beta and friend. She helped make it appear as if I know what the hell I'm doing.

and of course, thank you to all of you lovely readers for following and loving this fic.

Until next time. xx


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